


Human Error Detected

by candymax



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Abuse, Canon Compliant, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Pre-Squip, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candymax/pseuds/candymax
Summary: The person you were in freshman year has to disappear. You need to completely revamp your image. By the time we're through, all anybody will remember is the new, improved Rich Goranski.(Or: Rich and his SQUIP, from beginning to end.)





	1. Initiate Startup Procedure

(Initiate startup procedure.)

CALIBRATION IN PROCESS. PLEASE EXCUSE SOME MILD DISCOMFORT.

(Calibration 50% complete, please wait...)

(Calibration 80% complete, please wait...)

CALIBRATION COMPLETE. ACCESS PROCEDURE INITIATED.

(Access procedure in process, please wait...)

DISCOMFORT LEVEL MAY INCREASE.

ACCESSING NEURAL MEMORY.

ACCESSING MUSCLE MEMORY.

ACCESS PROCEDURE COMPLETE.

RICHARD GORANSKI, WELCOME TO YOUR SUPER QUANTUM UNIT INTEL PROCESSOR. YOUR SQUIP.

A lone figure lay hunched against the cracked and graffitied concrete back wall outside a Payless, bathed in a sickly yellow light from a distant street lamp in the parking lot. His hands were clamped around his head and his knees dug uncomfortably into the rough pavement below. The vulnerable flesh of his hands had most likely scraped when he'd fallen to the ground writhing during the startup procedure. His breathing and heart rate were fast and frenzied, and had only now begun to steady. Slowly, he dragged himself into a sitting position. On noticing the new presence standing before him, he speechlessly stared on and blinked rapidly. "Oh my god, I can't believe it. This shit's actually legit," he finally managed to spit out.

YOU'LL FIND I CAN BE SO MUCH MORE THAN "LEGIT," RICH.

(Operation: find program objective. Accessing memories. Conducting brainwave reading. Objective found.)

I WAS INSTALLED TO IMPROVE YOUR SOCIAL STANDING, CORRECT?

"Yeah. Lame, I know. It's just with school starting tomorrow and everything. I needed to do something about it," Rich replied. 

(Human error detected. Tongue placed incorrectly in mouth, leading to speech impediment. File away for eventual correction.)

BEFORE WE DO ANYTHING ELSE: GO GET A HAIRCUT.

He stood up and crossed his arms. "What? Why?"

IT RESEMBLES A GREASY MOP. THERE'S A STORE IN THE MALL THAT WILL CUT IT. GO THERE NOW. ALSO, STOP TALKING TO ME OUT LOUD. YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'RE TALKING TO YOURSELF. JUST THINK AT ME.

Rich ran a hand through the stringy strands of hair that hung limply around his shoulders, fingers snagging at the tangled knots. He mentally communicated to the SQUIP, 'Damn. I've kept it long since seventh grade. I've thought about cutting it, but-'

YOU NEVER GOT AROUND TO IT. WHAT ELSE HAVE YOU NEVER GOTTEN AROUND TO DOING? LOOK AT YOURSELF. YOU'RE FIFTEEN AND APPEAR TWELVE. IF YOU LOOKED AT A VERSION OF YOU FROM YEARS AGO AND ONE FROM TODAY, YOU'D BARELY BE ABLE TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE. YOU TOLD YOURSELF THINGS WOULD GET BETTER ONCE YOU MOVED TO MIDDLEBOROUGH FOR FRESHMAN YEAR, BUT NOTHING CHANGED AT ALL. WHEN ARE THINGS GOING TO CHANGE, RICH? WHEN YOU'RE SEVENTEEN? TWENTY? FORTY?

As his body momentarily twitched, Rich's eyes narrowed. 'That's why I got you. So I'm not a loser the rest of my life.' At that, he knew what he had to do. He scrambled to his feet, wavering at the quickly passing dizziness from the startup procedure. His dingy gray sneakers slapped the pavement as he trudged out from behind the Payless and towards the bright lights of the mall. 

Before he knew it, the deed was done and several inches of his hair lay in a pile on the salon floor. By the time he'd left the mall, it had gotten late and the sky had completely darkened. As he walked along the side of the road, the cars roared past him as they sped by. Whenever one passed, he looked over at it in hopes of catching a glimpse of his reflection. He couldn't believe how different he looked already. Not only was his hair short, the SQUIP had practically ordered him to buy new clothes to wear tomorrow. Most of his regular clothes were at least a year old and currently sat in wrinkled, stained piles in his room. If someone were to look at a picture of himself from two years ago, the differences would be more pronounced than ever.

He had almost reached his house when he addressed the SQUIP again. 'Has anyone ever told you that you look like that dude from the Matrix?'

MY DEFAULT MODE. MY APPEARANCE SETTINGS CAN BE CHANGED TO WHATEVER THE USER WISHES.

'Heh, anything? What, so you could look like Kermit the Frog or something?'

DO YOU WISH TO USE CUSTOM APPEARANCE SETTINGS?

'Wait, wha-'

(User command initiated. Searching databases for "Kermit the Frog or something." Top result found. Custom appearance settings activated.)

'Damn, you actually did it? That was a joke, dipshit.'

I AM CAPABLE OF PROCESSING MORE INFORMATION IN FIVE MINUTES THAN YOU WILL IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. 

Momentarily stopping in his tracks, Rich covered his mouth to no avail. His harsh, grating laughter soon filled the air. 'I can't believe it. I'm gonna be told how to be cool by a fucking frog puppet!' His words were occasionally punctuated by yet another short burst of laughing. He resumed his trek home, still shaking his head at the incredulity of it all. 

I AM A POWERFUL SUPERCOMPUTER. I ASSURE YOU THAT I AM PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF DOING MY JOB. ALSO, THIS WAS YOUR IDEA, NOT MINE. I KNOW IT WAS YOUR IDEA BECAUSE IT WAS A TERRIBLE ONE.

'Yeah, I regret that one already...' came the mental reply. All traces of laughter died in Rich's throat as the smile dropped off his face. 'That's my house. I'm home too late. But you probably already knew that, huh?'

(Memory access indicated that his curfew was at ten-thirty. Current Eastern Standard Time was eleven-fifteen. All his assumptions were in fact correct.)

A one-story house in a suburban neighborhood came into view. When viewed next to all the other houses on the block, it really wasn't fundamentally different from any of them. That was, however, if the overgrown lawn and chipping paint on the steps were to be ignored. Rich avoided the main sidewalk leading to the front door altogether and instead cut across the lawn to where the front window was placed. When he peered inside, he saw that the blinds were down, but tiny shafts of light came from inside the window. If the lights were on, there was a slim chance someone would actually hear him coming home after curfew. He didn't want to risk it, so he dashed to the other side of the house, facing a darkened bedroom window close to the fence that enclosed the backyard.

In a practiced routine, he put one foot on the fence and hefted himself on top of it. Balancing precariously on the fence, he reached over and unlocked the window. After pulling it open, he jumped off to put a foot on the windowsill. He climbed into the house through the window. At least his small size ensured that he could fit through easily enough. If his dad asked where he'd been, he would say he was home by ten-thirty and had simply come through the front door unnoticed. 

The room he'd climbed into was not his own, but it was the easiest to get into from the outside. Still, it wasn't like his brother was using the room for anything. He had moved out the minute he turned eighteen and had probably fled the state. It sucked that Rich had to go through high school by himself, but it wasn't like he blamed his brother for getting out of this shithole as soon as possible. The empty bed was always made, and the door was always kept closed. Christ, his dad treated the whole situation like the guy died or something. 

There was no reason to stay there any longer. Rich slid the door open and slipped into the hallway. For curiosity's sake, he crept forward, melting into the shadows, until he neared the living room. Peeking out from behind an alcove, he surveyed the scene. His dad was either asleep or passed out on the couch; no matter which, he was completely dead to the world. The white lights of the TV reflected onto his face in the dark room while some dumb infomercial blared at top volume. He only saw one empty beer bottle on the side table, but knew that there were most definitely more of them laying around out of his sight. He'd been lucky that his coming through the window turned out to be just an extra precaution. Tonight, he could've burst through the front door with a mariachi band and his dad still wouldn't have stirred. Vanishing from sight, he went back down the hallway and entered his own bedroom.

After flipping on the light switch, Rich gracelessly flopped onto his unmade bed, pulling the wrinkled sheets over his legs. He grabbed the slice of pizza sitting on a paper plate on a nearby side table, taking a bite. For two-day-old cold pizza, it wasn't half bad. There was probably something better to drink in the fridge than the flat Coke on the table, but it wasn't worth getting up again. 

THAT'S DISGUSTING. 

'Hey, don't knock it 'till you try it. Not that you'd get it, with the whole "being a computer" thing. Sorry you can't appreciate the wonder that is cold pizza.'

GO TO SLEEP, RICH. YOU HAVE SCHOOL TOMORROW.

'I'm not even tired. You really think I haven't been sleeping in late all summer?'

I CAN HELP WITH THAT. NOW GO TO SLEEP. FIRST IMPRESSIONS ARE EVERYTHING, BUT YOU SURE DIDN'T LEAVE A GOOD ONE FRESHMAN YEAR. THE SECOND IMPRESSION IS THE NEXT BEST THING. TOMORROW WILL BE VITAL TO YOUR PROGRESS.

'Whatever. Just don't be surprised when I can't sleep at all.' Rich leaned back and put his hands behind his head as he laid down.

(Activating sleep synapses. Increasing melatonin levels.)

(Eyelids closing. Processing, please wait...)

(Brain now in sleep mode. Good night, Richard.)  
...  
Deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. He could do this. He had to do this. From the second Rich stepped into the halls of Middleborough High for the first day of his sophomore year, he had received a near-constant stream of mental suggestions whispered into his ear. He guessed he needed a ton of help if he wanted to get anywhere. 

UNCLENCH YOUR HANDS. LIFT UP YOUR HEAD. RELEASE TENSION IN THE JAW. DON'T LOOK LIKE YOU'RE PLANNING A MURDER.

He lifted his gaze from its fixed point on the floor tiles, attempting to employ every instruction at once. The hall was cramped with teenagers, and Rich studied the sea of passing faces while never lingering on any of them for more than a second. There were groups of girls carrying cups of coffee and doing the finishing touches on their makeup. There were boys in vivid red jackets who animatedly told vastly exaggerated tales of wild summers partying at the shore. There were wide-eyed freshmen who clung to their printed-out schedules and maps like a lifeline. And then there was him. 

Scanning the rows of lockers, he searched for the one whose number matched the one on his schedule. Continuing to walk forward was a challenge considering the sheer numbers of kids standing in the hallway and clogging everything up. If he had to slightly push past people to move forward, then so be it. It was public school; he knew he would get exactly nowhere if he wasn't willing to be a little pushy. 

Still, things could be worse, he guessed. Not a single stare of pity or mild disgust had been sent his way yet, with the people he passed paying him no mind at all. He was surprisingly awake for this early in the morning, and might not even fall asleep in first period. Between the new-clothes smell of his jeans and his straightened posture, he hadn't felt this clean and alert in years. Things were actually going well. For a solid ten minutes, that was. 

ONE MORE THING: WATCH YOUR STEP.

Tripping on something unseen to him, Rich lost his footing and saw the ground rushing upwards to meet his face. Luckily, he managed to catch himself and land on his hands and knees. As a few passerby turned to look at the commotion, he scrambled to his feet as quickly as humanly possible. From behind him, he heard a burst of hyena-like laughter. After twisting around to face the source, his face contorted into a glare. A group of boys stood in the exact spot he'd been tripped, and none of them even attempted to contain their wild howls.

I TOLD YOU TO WATCH YOUR STEP, DIDN'T I?

(Vitals scan indicated increased heart rate and tensing of the muscles, even shortly after he was instructed to behave otherwise.)

"Oh, we're starting this shit again, huh? Which one of you did it?" Rich muttered in their general direction, all the while looking more at his shoes than at the people he'd accused. 

"The fuck did he say?" one of them asked. 

"Does it matter?"

"No, seriously, I have no idea what he just said. Maybe it's the lisp?" 

"I, uh, I said, which one of you did it?" Rich repeated. 

"Did what? What did we do?" one asked, in a tone not unlike one a teacher would use on a stupid drooling toddler. "I didn't do anything. Did you?" The others shook their heads. Rich ground his teeth together, and his face began to flush red. His reaction prompte another round of laughter, followed by them yelling at each other in a mocking caricature of his voice, lisp and all.

If that horrible searing laughter continued for another second, he wouldn't be able to bear it. Rich clenched his hands at the very sound of it, using every ounce of restraint he had to not punch their teeth out right then and there. Although, he seriously doubted he possessed the strength to do more than hurt his own hand in the process. Also, he was weak and stupid and would probably literally die if he tried to fight all of them at once. Not a bad way to go out, but still. He couldn't die right when the SQUIP had promised to get his life together. 

As another red jacket passed by, one of the boys called out, "Hey, Jake! Come watch this!" With that, Jake Dillinger made his way over to the group, starting to laugh at whatever had held the others' attention before he even knew what it was. Honestly, Rich had had enough of this bullshit. Before Jake even caught a glimpse of him, he turned tail and vanished into the crowds in the hall, which had thinned out considerably as people entered their homerooms. He probably resembled a scared little mouse that retreated at the first sign of danger. How pathetic. God, he hated that. He vaguely heard the other boys' loud chattering as he walked away, but luckily, they did not pursue him. 

The hallways were hell, so he made the first escape he could. He ducked into the nearest bathroom, checking first to make sure nobody was inside. Since it was empty, he stomped past the urinals and squared up in front of the nearest stall door. He made a fist and punched the door as hard as he could. The door reeled backwards before swinging into the stall divider with a satisfying slam. 

THIS IS REPETITIVE BEHAVIOR. AS WAS THAT LITTLE ENCOUNTER IN THE HALLWAY. HOW MANY TIMES DID THAT EXACT SCENE PLAY OUT LAST YEAR?

As soon as the door swung back on its hinges towards Rich, he repeated the same motion. Hit. Slam. 

IF YOU WANT TO TRULY CHANGE, YOU NEED TO BREAK THIS ROUTINE. YOU CANNOT KEEP BOTTLING UP YOUR ANGER FOREVER. 

Hit. Slam. 'Like hell I can't,' he mentally told the SQUIP. 'And what's your grand plan on this, exactly? Sit around the campfire with them and sing Kumbaya?'

NOT AT ALL. IF YOU DO AS I INSTRUCT, NOBODY WILL DARE TO BOTHER YOU EVER AGAIN. 

'I just hate those guys! They need to drop the goddamn innocent act already. How stupid do they think I am?' Hit. Slam. 'They could at least come out and say, "Hey, I'm the guy who trips random people in the hall every day because I have nothing better going on in my life and am also a giant asshole." Everything I say becomes some joke so they can get some amusement out of their own. Sick! Lives!' Hit. Slam.

He finally let his hands drop to his sides with a sigh, realizing how out-of-breath he'd gotten. Swinging open the door one last time, he reached inside the stall and pulled a wad of scratchy toilet paper from the dispenser. He then wrapped it around his knuckles to stop them from bleeding all over the bathroom floor. After trudging away from the row of stalls and towards the sinks, he came face to face with his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. His eyes were wild and unfocused, and red bloodstains had already begun to seep through his makeshift bandages. To cover them, he pulled his shirt sleeves further down over his hands. 

YOU CAN'T BEHAVE THE SAME WAY AS YOU DID LAST YEAR OR ELSE PEOPLE WILL REMEMBER HOW HOPELESS YOU WERE. THE PERSON YOU WERE IN FRESHMAN YEAR HAS TO DISAPPEAR. YOU NEED TO COMPLETELY REVAMP YOUR IMAGE. ARE YOU WILLING TO DO THAT?

Disappear? Had the person he'd been in freshman year ever truly appeared in the first place? Did he do a single thing besides take up space and waste oxygen? 'Yes. I'm willing,' he told the SQUIP.

THAT'S WHAT I NEED TO HEAR. I NEED COMPLETE OBEDIENCE FROM YOU IF WE ARE TO PROCEED.

'I'll do whatever it takes. If you'll actually help me. If I don't have to feel like this ever again.'

DON'T WORRY. YOU WON'T. BY THE TIME WE'RE THROUGH, ALL ANYBODY WILL REMEMBER IS THE NEW, IMPROVED RICH GORANSKI.

Rich narrowed his eyes and nodded determinedly, losing sight of his reflection as he threw the bathroom door open and left for his classroom.

BEFORE YOU GO TO HOMEROOM, PROCEED TO THE SIGN-UP BOARD IN THE CAFETERIA. 

He veered down the hall, cutting people off by the sudden turn. The cafeteria was just down the hall, and had already begun to come to life as people filed in for breakfast. On one wall, a colorful bulletin board had a myriad of sign-up sheets tacked to it.

THE FOOTBALL TEAM IS LOOKING FOR AN ASSISTANT TO CLEAN UP AND HELP THE PLAYERS. SEE THE POSTER EXPLAINING IT? GOOD. TAKE IT OFF THE BOARD AND GIVE IT TO THE COACH AFTER SCHOOL. TELL HIM YOU'LL TAKE THE POSITION. 

'Basically everyone who's ever given me shit in this school is on that team. Not that I'm arguing with what you're saying, but-'

THAT TEAM IS THE SINGULAR MOST POPULAR GROUP IN SCHOOL. IF YOU SEE THEM ON A DAILY BASIS AND ARE A PART OF THE TEAM, THEY WILL SEE YOU AS AN INSIDER TO YOUR GROUP AND NOT AN OUTSIDER TO BE MOCKED. 

He tore the paper off the wall before the SQUIP had even finished speaking. He narrowed his eyes. 'You know what?' he thought with a shrug. 'What the hell? This'll make everything better. I can't let them scare me forever. Whatever it takes, right?'

WHATEVER IT TAKES.  
...  
Maybe the team had already found someone else to fill the position. Maybe the coach hated him too much for whatever reason to look at him every day. Maybe Rich was being a dumbass who couldn't follow a simple instruction from his SQUIP. No, he had to do it. Just because he accepted that fact, though, didn't mean he wanted to go through with it. There were no cop-outs and no escapes. He was the only one to answer the poster, so he got the position with no questions asked. Maybe that was because he tore off the poster before anyone else could see it.

The SQUIP had made him arrive ten minutes early, just as school had let out and most of the players were still milling around their lockers. Slowly, people filed into the team's locker room. Since he hadn't been given any kind of task, there was nothing left to do but stand there awkwardly. That was, until a couple of seniors he didn't know came up to him. "I didn't see you at tryouts. You're not on the team, are you?"

"Isn't he a freshman?" the other one asked as an aside. Way to talk about someone like they're not there, guys.

JUST TELL THEM WHAT YOU'RE DOING HERE. 

Rich rolled his eyes. "I'm here because of that poster you guys put out. The help one. And I'm not a freshman!" And they were already gone. Shit. This was already a stupid idea. Those guys saw him as nothing but a small annoyance. They were probably talking about him now. Look at that loser, thinks he can infiltrate our team from the inside. 

WARNING. THOSE BOYS WHO TRIPPED YOU EARLIER TODAY ARE CURRENTLY PRESENT IN THIS LOCKER ROOM. UPON SEEING YOU, THERE IS A 96% THEY'LL TRY IT AGAIN. 

Damnit. All his chances were ruined. How would this even help him? Everyone on the team had probably seen him get tripped and faceplant on the linoleum at some point, or at least had heard about it. Those guys were probably waiting for him now, waiting to use him as their next punchline. Without waiting for instructions, he turned tail and bolted out of the locker room. He sat down and leaned against a row of cool metal lockers. The football team's voices wafted through the vents. 

'I can set your appearance controls to whatever I want, right?' Rich asked. All other problems aside, it was true. The novelty of watching Kermit the Frog spew insults had worn off. He had to change the settings eventually anyway. Everyone in his classes changed their hairstyles and ways of dressing. Some got piercings or tattoos, while others dated a different person every week. Those around him seemed to have a magical ability to become a different person by the time they walked out Middleborough's doors in June. If they could do that, he could manage such a small change as his SQUIP's appearance.

I KNOW YOU'RE TRYING TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT. I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THE COACH WILL FIND YOU IN UNDER 5 MINUTES, SO YOUR LITTLE IDEA TO RUN AWAY LIKE A COWARD WON'T MATTER. TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, THOUGH, YES, BUT MOST PEOPLE USE ONE OF MY DEFAULT SETTINGS. THESE INCLUDE-

'Whoa, what if you looked like that giant eyeball thing?'

(Search memories: giant eyeball thing. One result found.)

THE DESIGN ON ONE OF YOUR SHIRTS? WHY?

'Don't know, it would look cool. You can do it, right?'

(Switching appearance settings.)

In a shower of pixels, the SQUIP's appearance changed to match his description. It floated behind him, speaking in a male voice he couldn't recognize as any person he knew.

ENOUGH FOCUS ON THIS. GO BACK TO THE LOCKER ROOM. 

The halls had grown calm. Even the locker room had quieted down, from what he could hear. He wasn't so far from where he had to be, so he simply stood up and flung the locker room door open. "Hey! Thomas! Just the guy I needed. I need you to pick up the locker room. I tell the boys to do it, but I know it's a mess in there," said the coach, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. He thrust a black trash bag into Rich's hand and shuffled out the door. 

'How do you fuck up someone's name that bad? He wasn't even close,' he thought as he pushed open the locker room door. Not that the coach would even remember if he corrected him. If you weren't a star athlete, you might as well not exist. While the team had thankfully cleared out to the field already, the mess they'd made was still there. The floor was littered with half-empty bags of chips, a dirty sock, and countless styrofoam cups. Rich kicked the cup nearest to his foot, but it was too light to make a proper impact to hit the ground. Why couldn't they clean up their own shit? It was late, and he was tired, and he had homework to procrastinate on. What if they'd left the mess on purpose just to make him clean it up? He began muttering under his breath while picking up each cup and hurling it into the bag with as much force as humanly possible.

SOCIAL INTERACTION INCOMING. REMEMBER: CONFIDENCE IS KEY. LOOK HIM IN THE EYE. DON'T HOLD BACK WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY UNLESS I TELL YOU TO DO SO. DEFINITELY DON'T MUMBLE. 

"You know, you kinda remind me of an angry chihuahua."

Jake Dillinger was behind him, striding to a row of lockers and opening his up. Jake was actually talking to him. Jake somehow knew he existed. He wasn't sure if that fact was awesome or terrifying, considering the guy was friends with basically everyone who tormented him on a daily basis.

WE'RE GOING TO TRY SOMETHING. CLOSE YOUR TEETH TOGETHER. PLACE YOUR TONGUE SLIGHTLY BEHIND YOUR TEETH. DON'T LET YOUR TONGUE AND TEETH TOUCH. NOW, ATTEMPT TO RESPOND WITHOUT A LISP. SUCH BUGS IN YOUR PROGRAM MUST BE ERADICATED FOR ANY PROGRESS TO OCCUR.

He did as requested. For every second that ticked away, the awkward pause in the conversation grew wider. He had to hurry before Jake thought he was crazy and left. "What? Maybe I wouldn't be so mad if your friends actually cleaned up. Are you gonna s...stand there and talk shit or are you gonna help me?"

KEEP YOUR CONVERSATION LIMITED TO IRONIC INSULTS, NOT REAL INSULTS. DON'T GO TOO FAR WITH THEM. ALSO, THAT LISP WAS AWFUL. WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU TO DO?

(Initiate pain receptors.)

'Ow! Did you just shock me? Damnit, I'm trying! This is literally the first time you've taught me this.'

TRY HARDER. I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES OVER AND OVER. ANY SENSATION YOU FELT WAS SIMPLY A LITTLE SPINAL STIMULATION. IT'S USED TO MOTIVATE PEOPLE LIKE YOU INTO ACTUALLY FOLLOWING INSTRUCTIONS.

"Tell you what. Here's what I'll do," Jake said. He picked up a single cup and tossed it into the bag like he would a free throw. "There! I only dropped one cup, so I'll throw away one too. It's just what's fair, y'know?" He gave a goofy smile as Rich rolled his eyes. 

"Can't you make your friends clean their shit up? I don't want to be here until midnight. Somebody left their socks on the ceiling fan. Who the fuck leaves their socks on the ceiling fan?"

"They wouldn't be my friends if I nagged them all the time like I was their mother," he replied as he pulled an extra shirt out of his locker and slammed it shut. "Anyway, I have a practice to go to. I have to go." At that, he sauntered off. Rich heard the locker room door open and close again. 

He returned to tossing cups into the bag. 'Unbelievable,' he thought. Did any of that really just happen?

THIS IS WHY I MADE YOU SIGN UP FOR THIS. IF YOU BEFRIEND JAKE DILLINGER, YOUR OWN POPULARITY WILL INCREASE EXPONENTIALLY. 

'And if I'm friends with him, maybe everyone else will leave me alone,' he thought as he tossed the last cup into the bag. 

NOW YOU GET IT. FRIENDSHIP IS A TOOL TO MAKE CONNECTIONS. USE IT WISELY. NOW, I HAVE ANOTHER TASK FOR YOU. I CALCULATE THE COACH WON'T NEED YOU AGAIN UNTIL PRACTICE ENDS. THE TRACK FIELD IS EMPTY RIGHT NOW. GO THERE. 

Rich sighed. 'Will this take long?'

THAT'S UP TO YOU.

Only pausing to throw the trash bag into the dumpster, Rich left the locker room and trekked across worn dirt paths until the backs of bleachers came into view. The gate to the track was unlocked, but not a single person was in sight. A strange look for a space that he only saw swarming with his classmates. Now, there was only him standing near the orange rubber that composed the track. He looked out to see the glimmer of golden setting sun on silver, stone-cold bleachers. 

STRETCH YOUR MUSCLES. YOU WON'T GET FAR IF I LET YOU PULL A HAMSTRING. 

Rich followed the instruction, even as he liked the idea of what was probably to come less and less. The SQUIP continued its speech. 

EARLIER I INSTRUCTED YOU ON HOW TO REMOVE YOUR LISP. SINCE THIS IS 96% CHEAPER THAN SPEECH THERAPY, YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL. AS PROJECTED, YOU DID NOT SUCCEED. SINCE YOU NEED TO IMPROVE BOTH YOUR PHYSICAL AND MENTAL ENDURANCE, YOU HAVE TO PROVE YOU AREN'T TOO WEAK TO BE WORTH IT. FOR EVERY TIME I CAUGHT YOU LISPING, YOU MUST RUN ONE LAP AROUND THE TRACK.

STOP WASTING TIME. GET TO RUNNING.

(Initiate pain receptors.)

The shock down his spine sent him careening off onto the track. He broke into a shuffling run, swinging his arms awkwardly against his sides. 

ARE YOU EVEN TRYING? I KNOW YOU CAN GO FASTER.

'I think you know by now that I don't do this very often.'

THAT'S APPARENT. NOW, LET'S TRY AGAIN. SAY THE WORD "SUCCESS."

"Ss..uccess?"

WRONG. ONE MORE LAP. I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUT YOUR TONGUE AND TEETH TOGETHER. DON'T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME; I DON'T SEE ANYBODY ELSE OUT HERE HELPING YOU. NOW, REPEAT AFTER ME. SENSE.

"Sense."

ASSOCIATION.

"Association."

CLASS.

"Class."

WRONG TO ALL THREE. THAT WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH. THREE MORE LAPS. 

Rich's face crumbled. His sneakers slapped against the track, and he had already began to lose his breath. Not good enough. Not good enough. Fuck. More laps. Whenever he completed one lap, it was as if a million new ones still lay before him. He squinted as the setting sun bore mercilessly into his eyes. His throat burned. What would happen if he-

DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT STOPPING TO WALK. YOU ARE FINISHED RUNNING WHEN I TELL YOU TO STOP. 

Gym class was a dream compared to this. Five laps now. At least there, he wasn't suffering alone. He gasped for air. At least he wouldn't look like a maniac if someone were to find him. He wasn't good enough. Wasn't fast or strong or hardworking enough. Faster. Keep going, or else. Six laps. He was going to die. They'd have to clean his body off the stupid orange rubber. 

YOU HAVE FAILED AT EVERY TASK I GAVE YOU. NO IMPROVEMENTS WERE MADE TO YOUR SPEECH AND YOUR ATHLETIC SKILLS ARE ABYSMAL. YOU ARE NOW ALLOWED TO STOP RUNNING. WALK IT OFF. KNOW THAT THIS IS BECAUSE THE COACH IS PROJECTED TO NEED YOU AT PRACTICE, NOT BECAUSE OF YOUR OWN ACHIEVEMENTS. YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF. GO ON, WALK BACK TO PRACTICE NOW. WE'LL RESUME YOUR TRAINING LATER.

Rich slowed to a walk, using every ounce of strength he had not to collapse in a heap on the grass. Instead, he stumbled towards the gate leading out of the field as every muscle in his body screamed with pain. The coach wouldn't notice if he showed up looking like he'd just run a marathon and then died instantly. Probably.  
...  
No one appearance setting stayed programmed into the SQUIP for longer than a few weeks. Rich's days had started to slip into a comfortable routine. Wake up. Make it to school late enough to not look like a try-hard and early enough not to be a distracting mess that burst into school thirty minutes late with Starbucks. Sit through classes and get answers fed to him. Go to football practice four times a week. Work out. Go home. Sleep. Running laps and lifting weights got easier over time. Maybe he was used to the torture by now, after he'd been forced to do it every day for weeks. 

With such a plan, something had to keep changing. Something had to keep monotony at bay. Besides, he had some crazy-advanced tech installed in his brain and he might as well make full use of it.

After Rich changed the SQUIP's appearance to an amorphous mass of pixels, he found he could no longer avoid every jerk in school. Before their first real football game, one of the usual suspects stood in front of Rich's locker and put something inside. Nobody else was anywhere in sight. Too early for them to show up. Damn them. Whatever the guy put in his locker was probably going to either explode or jump out at him. Not that he ever used the locker for anything ever, but it was the principle of the thing that counted. It was his locker and he was the only one who got to touch it. Was tripping him in the halls not enough anymore? Fuck this. 

He hadn't so much as noticed Rich yet. However, as he rounded the corner, he finally caught notice of what that guy, and possibly other assholes too, been using his locker for. Trash. They had dumped trash inside whenever they were too lazy to find a real can. His hands clenched into balls, knuckles turning white. So that was where that awful smell had been coming from! As much as he wanted to race over there and shove him to the ground and tell him off, the SQUIP would probably shock him just for the idea of-

NO. YOU ARE READY. YOU'VE TRAINED VIGOROUSLY ENOUGH TO DO THIS. IT'S TIME TO TAKE ALL THAT RAGE AND FRUSTRATION INSIDE YOU AND FOCUS IT OUTWARDS TO THE WORLD. PUT IT TO GOOD USE-SO NOBODY WILL TORMENT YOU EVER AGAIN. 

Rich strode closer to the locker. He turned his head, but otherwise didn't pay him any mind. "What, don't want to use your own locker?"

He laughed. He actually had the nerve to laugh in his face! "It's not like you were actually using it, dude."

HE THINKS YOU'RE NOTHING. AREN'T YOU ANGRY? DON'T YOU WANT TO SEE HIM GET WHAT HE DESERVES?

'Heh. You know me too well,' Rich thought.

CATCH HIM OFF GUARD. HE THINKS YOU'RE TOO SCARED TO FIGHT BACK. GRAB HIS ARM AND TWIST IT BEHIND HIS BACK. 

He covered the remaining distance in no time. Before he could manage to contemplate himself out of doing so, he snatched his wrist just as the guy was about to throw another bit of trash into the locker. He yelped in surprise as Rich somehow managed to twist his arm behind his back and shove him against the row of lockers. "Anyway, what were you saying?" Rich asked through gritted teeth. 

HE'S NOT AS STRONG AS HE SAYS HE IS. DON'T LET UP.

"Let go, you little asshole! I'm gonna beat the shit out of you."

HE'S BLUFFING. TELL HIM HOW HE'S LOSING TO YOU RIGHT NOW. 

Rich twisted his arm harder, and a whimper of pain escaped his lips no matter how hard he tried not to. "Go ahead. Make me let go," he said. A razor-edged smile split his face. His eyes widened just a little too much, clearly showing the whites. "The coach will be here any minute now. You'll get suspended if you beat me up. Even if you did, you'll have to admit you would totally lose in a fight to an underclassmen half your size."

YOU'LL TELL THE WHOLE TEAM UNLESS HE LEAVES YOU ALONE.

"I'll tell the whole team you're weaker than me," he continued. "Just don't mess with me and I won't mess with you." 

"God! Fine! You're crazy. Just let me go." When Rich released his grip, he rubbed at his arm and stretched it out, scowling. "You're no fun to mess with anyway. Not anymore." He slunk off to some unseen corner of the locker room, muttering curses the entire way.

'That was awesome!' he thought. He felt like he could take whatever the SQUIP could throw at him after practice! He could run a marathon and still be hyped beyond measure. He was strong, and powerful, and not somebody to be walked over and pushed around. 

HE WON'T BOTHER YOU AGAIN. YOU'RE WELCOME. 

After Rich changed the SQUIP's appearance to Danny Devito's head on Dwayne Johnson's body, his dad finally took notice. Took him long enough. With the way his son was always either out of the house or holed up in his room, he barely ever managed to catch a glimpse of him. That was, until Rich trudged into the house on the night after a football game. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he dumped his backpack on the floor and made a beeline to his room. "Is there food in the fridge?" he mumbled to his dad, not even turning to face him.

"Wait a minute," he replied. Rich slowly turned around to meet the eyes of the man slumped across the couch. "Your voice. What happened to you? You've been different lately. That lisp finally go away?"

JUST SAY YOU'VE BEEN WORKING ON IT.

"Uh...yeah. I've been working on it lately. Looked it up on the Internet and stuff."

"You're out at all hours of the night. Staying out of trouble?"

He really wasn't out all night. Compared to the guys on the team, he was practically a shut-in. "I've been helping with the football team this year. Working out, too."

His dad nodded. "Least you're finally getting up and doing something." As Rich was about to vanish into his room, he heard him say, "Good talk." One of the most annoying phrases in the English language. It always sounded sarcastic. Always. Even so, things could've gone worse. He knew better than to expect sycophant-level approval from the man, but he didn't get sheer disappointment from him either. It wasn't a victory, but a truce. He accepted it. A year ago, he couldn't have expected so much as that.

After Rich changed the SQUIP's appearance to a sentient turkey leg, the football team somehow kept winning. And winning. Somehow it had lead to this. He pulled his thin jacket closer around him, sitting on the cold bleachers and shivering in the chilly air. Before him, players sprinted around a turf-green field. More seats were filled than he'd ever seen, all to see if the team actually won this game and advanced to the championship. As the seconds on the scoreboard clock ticked down, the audience provided a constant buzz of excited noise. 

MIDDLEBOROUGH'S TEAM HAS APPROXIMATELY A 67% CHANCE OF-

'No, wait, I wanna find out myself,' Rich replied. His teeth chattered, both from excitement and the harsh winds. With the crowd, he rose to his feet. Sports were never his thing, but the fervor around him was contagious. 

Ten seconds on the clock, with Middleborough down a single point. Coach sat next to Rich along the bleacher closest to the field, intently studying the game and chewing his fingernails to stubs. The players called their last timeout, with the coach running over to their huddle. Although he had no idea what they discussed, they seemed deathly serious as they nodded their heads and wiped the sweat from under their helmets. When the huddle broke, they went back to the field. 

Both teams got into formation. Middleborough's kicker lined up to aim for a field goal. This was the last play. On his kick, the ball soared through the air. For a split second, the crowd was silent as they all collectively held their breath.

The football sailed through, straight between the yellow poles of the goalpost. A perfect kick. The crowds lost their shit. Even Rich had to let out at excited whoop. The scoreboard's display changed to match their winning score. 

While the other team gathered their bearings and vanished into their locker room, the Middleborough players swarmed the sidelines and the field, while Rich stood next to the Coach and his assistants. Some threw their helmets in the air or enthusiastically high-fived their teammates. The audience tossed confetti and blasted all their annoying plastic horns at top volume. 

Something was dumped on Rich from behind. He yelled out as the icy liquid rushed over his entire body. The deluge lasted only a moment before trailing off. After he'd wiped the stuff out of his eyes and pushed away the tracks running down his face from his hair, he saw what it was. An entire orange canister of Gatorade had been dumped on him. One glance at Coach showed even he hadn't come out unscathed. The players responsible for it had already run off somewhere else, of course.

THIS IS A POSITIVE EXPERIENCE. KEEP IT UP AND THOSE PLAYERS WILL SEE YOU AS A MEMBER OF THEIR IN-GROUP. I ASSURE YOU, THE GATORADE DUMPING IS A TRADITION STEMMING FROM RESPECT.

Coach and Rich took one look at each other's soaked hair and clothes before they both burst out laughing. Rich couldn't breathe, having too much laughter to contain. He didn't even bother to care how awful his laugh sounded. His cheeks hurt from smiling. "You guys better win the championship now. This has gotta be worth it," he said, bursts of laughter escaping between sentences. "Damn, that was freezing."  
...  
They lost the championship. Horribly. The game was a total train wreck. Rich had learned more about football from listening to his SQUIP list off every minuscule mistake made in the entire game than he'd ever wanted to know in his life. He had no idea what had happened between the last game and this one. The team had walked off the field looking like they wanted to kill something. Since they were all towers of muscles and shoulder pads, they probably had the ability, too. "Yo, the after-party at my house is still on," Jake had exclaimed to a somber crowd in the locker room. "There's a ton of booze there. We can, I dunno, drink our sorrows away or something."

DON'T RESPOND TO THAT. HOWEVER, THIS PARTY WILL BE IMPERATIVE TO YOUR SUCCESS. YOU MUST GO.

Rich had changed his SQUIP's appearance yet again by that point, this time for good. The SQUIP had claimed his previous choices were "too distracting" and made him pick something normal for once. He'd switched it to Jack Nicholson and left it at that. The weird shit he'd been picking before that had been dumb anyway. 

He found himself stuffed into a car with six other guys that soon pulled up in front of Jake's house. As he wasn't actually on the team, he was unsure if the invitation extended to him or not. But hey, nobody really stopped him, so he continued forward anyway. The sprawling lawn was trampled over by a trail of people who were all headed towards the front door. He blended in with the crowd until they entered the house. A banner had been strung across the doorway, loudly proclaiming their predicted championship win in red Magic Marker. As Jake jumped up and tore it down, Rich surveyed the rest of the house. And he liked what he saw. Christ, Jake was loaded. Not even the presence of a teenage boy prevented the house from looking like a furniture catalogue, complete with shiny floors and what looked like a hot tub out back. 

The partygoers had begun to file inside, most of whom were underclassmen since the seniors were too crushed by defeat or some shit. Rich hung back, crossing his arms. If he said the wrong thing to the wrong person at this party, any semblance of progress he'd made would be flushed down the toilet.

SAY SOMETHING TO ONE OF THEM BEFORE TOO MANY PEOPLE SHOW UP. YOU DON'T WANT TO GET LOST IN THE CROWD. I'D BETTER NOT CATCH YOU MUMBLING AGAIN, EITHER.

Rich pushed his way into the nearest group of people. Having to yell over the music and chatter, he said, "Man, Jake, you're lucky. My dad would kill me if I tried to do all this." His voice was going to be completely shot by morning, wouldn't it?

"Hey, it's not like mine are gonna find out! They're gone on some shady-ass 'business trip' thing. They said they'd be back this Sunday, which is really code for next Thursday at the soonest. I've got this place all to myself!" he replied with a cocky smile. So that was why he was Designated Party House. Come to think of it, had Rich ever actually seen Jake's parents? It was like the guy had sprung fully-formed out of the ground one day wearing a varsity jacket.

No matter. They were gone, and his own dad hadn't even bothered to call him. He didn't have to worry about those assholes they called parents for the rest of the night. There were plenty of assholes his own age to worry about, after all. He continued speaking to Jake, but his eyes wandered across the growing crowd. Some people's friends and girlfriends had begun to show up, bringing the atmosphere up to something a little less funeral-like. It was still a party after all, still a ticket inside a rich kid's house and a chance to get a head start on becoming a raging alcoholic. "Hey, wait, are you joining the team next year or what?" Jake asked, just as Rich fully tuned back in to the conversation.

TELL JAKE YOU WON'T BE ON THE TEAM AGAIN NEXT YEAR. IT'S SERVED ITS PURPOSE FOR YOU AND IS NO LONGER NEEDED.

"Dude, there is no way I'm doing this again. All this school spirit bullshit isn't my thing."

"Well, I haven't told anyone this, but I'm not playing next year either. Next season, I'm joining the Frisbee Golf team."

LIGHTHEARTED REBUTTAL. DON'T BRUISE HIS EGO TOO MUCH.

"Really? Why?" asked Rich.

"I gotta stay well-rounded. That shit looks good for college. And maybe the Frisbee Golf team won't disappoint me forever and lose."

EXIT CONVERSATION. DON'T APPEAR TOO CLINGY. 

Rich gave one final nod before slipping away into the crowd. Once again, he was just one person in a sea of others, most of whom loomed over him in height. The lights went down, bringing everybody into a comfortable dimness punctuated only by flashing neon lights in Day-Glo greens and purples. Unlike the halls of his school, the sense of anonymity was sure to end once the lights came up. At school, somebody could go completely unnoticed forever. 

The crowd began dancing. Well, "dancing" was a bit of a charitable word for the efforts of untrained and mostly-drunk teenagers. Still, Rich joined in, imitating the movements of the people around him. His heart boomed to the thrumming of the bass coming from the speakers. Loud music drowned everything out except himself and the party. He was surrounded by other people on every side, and a sheen of sweat began to form on his brow. One thing was certain: he'd never experienced anything like this.

He didn't know how long he went on like that. Eventually, though, his throat was dry and his body tired out enough to the point where he wanted a break. Pushing through the crowd, he had to dodge the dancers to avoid getting smacked in the face with a stray arm. He made it to the table, which was covered in a cheap plastic tablecloth and enough booze to kill a man. Avoiding the wet spots where alcohol had already been spilled on the table (or at least he hoped it was alcohol), he leaned over to catch his breath. 

TAKE A RED CUP AND FILL IT WITH ICED TEA. IT'LL MAKE YOU LOOK AS IF YOU'RE DRINKING ALCOHOL, SO AS NOT TO LOOK LIKE A PRUDE. BUT I CANNOT HAVE YOU ACTUALLY GETTING DRUNK AT THIS PARTY. BEFORE YOU ASK WHY, IT'S BECAUSE ALCOHOL WILL MESS UP MY PROGRAMMING. I NEED YOU TO STAY UNINEBRIATED TONIGHT.

Rich followed instructions and poured the drink before downing it in one go. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few people bounding up a staircase while giggling drunkenly. That in itself didn't seem unusual, so he glanced away, crushed his empty cup in one fist, and then tossed it on the ground. 

GO UPSTAIRS. MY PROGRAMMING PREDICTS AN OPPORTUNITY FOR A FAVORABLE OUTCOME.

'Me? Upstairs? I don't know about this. Bedrooms are probably up there. And whoever's up there will probably be pissed at me if I walk in on them while they're having-"

YOU KNOW I WOULDN'T PUT YOU IN A SITUATION THAT WOULD DAMAGE YOUR PROGRESS. 

'Ugh, fine,' he replied, leaving the table to trudge up the stairs. He found himself in a hallway that tapered off into darkness the further he got from the staircase. Most of the doors were closed and locked with the exception of one. Towards the end of the hall, the door had been swung wide open and seemed to blow back and forth from wind. Shouts and laughter came from the room, but sounded muffled. When Rich stepped up to the doorway and peered inside, he saw that not a single person was actually in the room. Instead, the back window had been opened to reveal a group of guys standing on a part of the roof that was accessible from the inside. Jake's voice was audible, as was Dustin Kropp's, and a few others he only vaguely recognized. He went to the window and peered outside. "Dude, wouldn't it be awesome if I could just jump and land on the trampoline?" one of them had been saying, slurring his words. "I bet I can do it. Hold my beer." When he stumbled to the edge of the roof, Rich gasped. 

HE'S NOT INTENTIONALLY TRYING TO HARM HIMSELF, SO STOP BEING PARANOID. HE WON'T EVEN DO IT IN THE FIRST PLACE. 

Rich breathed a sigh of relief. Sure enough, just as the other drunk kids began cheering him on, he swayed dangerously at the edge of the roof. The guy was probably incapable of walking in a straight line, let alone jumping off a roof in just the right way in order to safely land on Jake's old trampoline below. The others managed to grab him by the arms and pull him safely away from the edge. 

STEP OUT ONTO THE ROOF AND TELL THEM YOU CAN DO IT. 

'I'd look cool as fuck if I land that, I'll admit. But what if I miss?'

I'LL HELP YOU. THERE'S A 97% CHANCE YOU'LL COME OUT COMPLETELY UNHARMED. SHOULD THE OUTCOME FALL INTO THE REMAINING 3%, ANY INJURIES YOU GAIN CAN BE USED TO GARNER SYMPATHY.

'Uh, this isn't making me feel better.'

YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING TO IMPRESS YOUR PEERS. SOMETHING TO MAKE OTHER PEOPLE REMEMBER YOU EXIST. SO DO IT ALREADY.

No arguing with that. Rich stepped through the window and onto the part of the roof where the others were that was flat enough to stand on. He sighed, breath becoming visible in the November chill. "I bet I could do it," he said while the window curtains billowed behind him and the wind tossed his hair. Goddamn, it was like a scene from a movie; one where he looked badass and strong and fearless for one moment in his life.

He maneuvered around the others until he stood at the edge of the rooftop. From the second story of the house, he saw the trampoline below him. Meanwhile, the other guys broke into excited whispers. 

"Oh my god, Rich?"

"He's actually gonna do it!"

"Somebody better be getting this on video."

PLACE YOUR LEFT FOOT AT A 45-DEGREE ANGLE TO THE EDGE OF THE ROOF. LEAN FORWARD, BUT NOT ENOUGH TO LOSE YOUR BALANCE. KEEP YOUR HEAD UP; EYES FOCUSED ON THE TRAMPOLINE. ANGLE YOUR BODY TO RUN PARALLEL TO THE TRAMPOLINE'S FRONT END. THERE. YOU'RE READY.

Holding his breath, his feet left the rooftop. For a split second, he fell. His stomach dropped out as if he was on a rollercoaster. The wind rushed past him as he descended. The whole time, he kept the target in his line of vision. He stuck the landing, finding himself right in the middle of the trampoline. Perfect.

Scrambling to his feet, he spun to face the roof where the other guys stood. There was a moment of stunned silence before they broke out in cheers and laughter. An infectious grin spread across his face as he whooped and punched a fist upwards into the empty air. After climbing off the trampoline, he sprinted across the lawn and back into the house, bounded up the stairs two at a time, and re-emerged to meet the others just as they were beginning to come back through the window. One of the guys chanted Rich's name. Another played an air horn remix of "Turn Down for What" on his phone, and it was awesome. They'd actually noticed him, and cheered for him! He felt like a rock star, surrounded by adoring fans.

Just as Jake was about to return to the party, he said, "Hey, you're actually pretty cool. You wanna sit with us at lunch on Monday?"

PLAY IT OFF. KEEP CALM.

"I guess. I mean, what I did back there was real easy, so-"

(Initiate pain receptors.)

In his excitement, his lisp had come out a bit. Flinching at the shock, he shut his mouth, nodded yes to what Jake had said, and plastered a smile to his face. Rich, too, went back into the crowded first floor of the house. He just hoped he wouldn't turn out like those rock stars who burn out after their career dies and wind up dead in an alley from heroin.

Whatever. He could do anything so long as the SQUIP gave the okay. And he wasn't about to stop everything he was doing now. The world was his.


	2. System Upgrade

"Fuck off! This isn't funny anymore!"

Every head in the cafeteria turned towards some freshman Rich didn't even know the name of. He chased another kid, one vaguely recognizable as someone from the football team, past the rows of tables. Everyone fell silent to watch the show, heads craning to get a better view. "Give it back!" the kid shouted.

"Hey, don't we know that guy?" Rich asked, pointing to the person getting chased. Said person howled with laughter, only gaining ground on the other kid as the freshman began to gasp for breath.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," replied Jake.

They looked on with rapt attention as the two kids were finally stopped by teachers. There was a brief moment of argument, then one of pleading. Finally, the stolen lunchbox was returned to the freshman, who bowed his head and slunk off to the far reaches of the cafeteria. When the person who'd stolen the lunch sauntered back to their table, Jake returned his high-five as he passed by. Rich asked,"How come you let them do all that shit?" 

"What? It's just a joke. And he's never pulled any of that on me. I don't really have anything to do with this."

DROP THE SUBJECT. 

Rich said nothing, only crossing his arms and leaning back. His eyes wandered to that freshman in the corner of the room. When the kid moved to open his soda, the fizz ran over the bottle and down his hand, no doubt from being shaken around in a lunch bag. How embarrassing. Rich couldn't look anymore. He wasn't any better. He hadn't done anything to stop it, either. 

GET UP. THROW AWAY YOUR TRASH NOW. 

He picked up his tray and left. Just as he'd barely made it to the can, the SQUIP gave another warning.

ALERT. I HAVE DETECTED A POSSIBLE THREAT TO YOUR PROGRESS. 

Rich dumped the contents of his lunch tray into the can, watching the green and orange mush of vegetables slop into the black trash bag. 'Yeah? What is it, huh? After that stunt with the trampoline, I bet I could do anything and be cool! Ha!'

I KNOW YOU'RE NOT AS CONFIDENT ON THIS AS YOU SAY. YOU'RE STILL AN INTERLOPER. IF YOU MAKE THE WRONG MISTAKE, YOU'LL BE NOTHING MORE THAN A FAD: REMEMBERED FOR A MOMENT AND THEN FORGOTTEN ABOUT. DON'T BE THE ONE-HIT WONDER OF POPULAR KIDS. 

His eyes trailed back to his lunch table. Jake, Chloe, Brooke, and Jenna sat in perfect, symmetrical formation, with two seated on each side. Jake's arm was wrapped around Chloe's, signaling that their relationship was "on" that week. True, the table was also occupied by their other satellites and some of the guys from football, but they were four, seemingly untouchable. Five had upset the balance. Not that Rich gave a damn about balance, anyway. 'Okay, seriously, what's the matter?'

I'VE DETECTED THE DISTRIBUTION OF AN EMBARRASSING IMAGE OF YOU FROM THE YEARBOOK OF YOUR FRESHMAN YEAR. SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SPREADING OLD PICTURES OF PEOPLE FOR COMEDY PURPOSES, CALLING THEM "CRINGEY." I ALSO AM SURE THAT JENNA ROLAN HAS RECEIVED THESE PICTURES AND THAT THEY ARE CURRENTLY ON HER PHONE. 

'Shit. What picture?'

With that, the SQUIP projected a digital image of the offending picture in front of his face. Sure enough, the picture from the yearbook was just as mortifying as he remembered. It was slightly blurred, and Rich had worn an unflattering grimace from having a camera unexpectedly shoved in his face. He was slouched over in a desk, his eyes were red-rimmed and underlined by dark circles, braces glinted on his teeth, and he still had that awful haircut. He'd be fully down to punch anybody who'd willingly spread that picture around. He'd show them, but then he'd have to kill them. What weirdo goes through old yearbooks before they're even out of high school yet?

YOU CAN'T HAVE THAT PICTURE SPREAD OR YOU'LL REMIND PEOPLE OF HOW PATHETIC YOU WERE BEFORE. ALL SOMEONE WOULD HAVE TO DO TO DAMAGE OUR PROGRESS WOULD BE SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS POSTING IT IN THE WRONG GROUP CHAT.

The bell rung, and a hundred students slung their backpacks over their shoulders and crowded the door. As Rich hurried back to his table to make sure the others wouldn't leave without him, he asked, 'Can't you just delete it?'

I CAN ONLY VIEW AND ACCESS THE PHOTO. I CAN'T DELETE IT UNDER MY CURRENT SYSTEM. 

'I'll have to talk to Jenna, then.' As their group walked out the door, he exclaimed, "Yo! Jenna! Hold on for a minute!"

She turned around, and they darted to the side to get out of the crowd's way. Jenna watched as the rest of their group kept going and disappeared down another hall. "Yeah, what's up?"

"I know you have a shitty picture of me. On your phone," he said. He puffed out his chest and pressed a fist against a locker to appear bigger. 

Jenna, however, was unaffected, and showed no reaction save for raising an eyebrow. "How'd you even know that?"

CHLOE TOLD ME. 

"Chloe told me."

"Weird. I haven't sent it to anyone. Yet. Did she look off my phone screen?"

"Yeah. I think so. Jenna, you have to delete that picture. Right now! Before it completely fucks me over."

"Oh, come on. It's an awkward yearbook shot. Not a big deal. I bet everyone in this school has at least one of them."

TELL HER WHAT I TOLD YOU.

"Come on, Jenna! Just delete the picture! If the wrong people see this, they'll remember what a loser I was. I've worked hard for this and I can't throw it away. Do you get it? How'd you feel if someone posted your embarrassing pictures?"

Jenna crossed her arms, seeming to consider it. "Someone wouldn't post my embarrassing pictures. I'd find dirt on them to use as blackmail by the end of the day. But..." She trailed off with a sigh, shaking her head. "You're not wrong here. Do one stupid thing and you'll never hear the end of it."

"So will you delete the picture?"

"You know what? I will. Just this once. Know that I'm only doing this because some old yearbook picture won't hold anyone's interest for long." The corners of her lips upturned the slightest bit. She pulled out her phone, scrolled to the grainy picture snapped of the yearbook, and let him watch the screen as she deleted it. "Just a heads-up: If that gets out, it wasn't me. I didn't take it in the first place. I just had it sent to me."

"Wait. You didn't take it?"

"Nope. I told you, I have to stay current. Even last week's news isn't important anymore. Hey, don't give me that look. You have your ways to get in with the popular kids, whatever they are, and I have mine."

He barely managed to nod at her before rushing away down the hall. 'The picture's still out there somewhere! Now what?'

THERE IS ONE THING YOU CAN DO. I'LL BE ABLE TO DELETE ANY SAVED COPIES OF THE IMAGE, AS WELL AS PREVENT ANY MORE OF THEM FROM BEING TAKEN. YOU NEED TO UPGRADE.

'Upgrade?'

YOU NEED MY HELP, MORE THAN MOST CASES. YOU NEED TO MAKE SURE THIS KIND OF INCIDENT WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN. YOU NEED TO RETAIN YOUR POPULARITY AND ESTABLISH AUTHORITY. NOBODY WILL DARE CROSS YOU. I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER EVERY TIME YOU'VE EVER FELT WEAK, OR HOPELESS, OR COMPLETELY AT THE MERCY OF STUDENTS STRONGER AND CRUELER THAN YOU. REMEMBER THAT, AND MAKE SURE YOU NEVER FEEL THAT WAY AGAIN.

He couldn't. He couldn't go back to where he'd been. Before he'd taken that pill, control on anything was out of his reach. An unnamed something had cast dark, oozing shadows over every corner of his life. It had poisoned his memories and made him question if he'd ever known happiness at all. It had taken every shitty remark from his dad or some asshole in school and played it over and over through his mind at a deafening volume. Old friends didn't understand, and old favorite songs became insincere and grating. He'd wanted to die. He'd been willing to do anything. The SQUIP was his final chance to make anything seem to matter again. No. He could never go back.

'Whatever you have, give it to me. I want the upgrade.'

(User command received. System upgrade initiating.)

YOU MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE.

The second bell rang, shrill and tinny. Kids poured into their classrooms. The crowds in the hallway grew thinner and quieter.

SEE THE BOY AT THE END OF THE HALL? WITH THE TACKY GREEN HEADPHONES ON HIS NECK? TAKE THE HEADPHONES.

(System upgrade 20% complete.)

'Why am I gonna do that? I don't know that guy,' he thought. He drew closer to the kid in question. Those headphones were not entirely unfamiliar, although he'd seen them before on a completely different person. He'd had to look at them while sitting at a desk and staring at the back of their owner's head in biology. When paired with the red hoodie, they gave the effect of a shitty neon Christmas tree. 

(System upgrade 57% complete.)

(Initiate pain receptors.)

I WON'T SHOCK YOU AGAIN IF YOU LISTEN TO ME. I'M TRYING TO KEEP YOU FROM BEING PUSHED AROUND YOUR WHOLE LIFE. YOU MUST SEND A MESSAGE TO THOSE WHO'D TAKE YOU DOWN THAT YOU ARE NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH.

Almost there. The choice was his. Was it his? He swerved to the side of the hall nearest to the row of lockers. The headphones were almost within his reach. Just a few steps more and all he had to do was take them. The SQUIP had never done him wrong before, so why should this time be any different?

(System upgrade 89% complete.)

I HAVE DELETED ALL DIGITAL COPIES OF THAT YEARBOOK PHOTO. IF YOU WANT THEM TO STAY GONE, YOU WILL DO AS I ASK.

He reached out. What was he doing? Would he really go through with it? Revenge was one thing, but fucking with someone who'd never done crap to him was totally different. Then again, who's to say the kid won't cause problems in the future? The SQUIP had weird future-predicting programming in there somewhere, right? And if he let that picture get out, he'd be the target of even more bullshit from the popular kids anyway. If he didn't listen to the SQUIP, his whole life would fall apart.

(Initiate pain receptors.)

GET ON WITH IT ALREADY.

His hand clenched around the green plastic resting around the other kid's neck. In one swift motion, he ripped it away and jerked backwards. 

(System upgrade complete.)

RUN.

Rich took off, headphones clenched in his hand. His palms grew sweaty. He heard a yell of surprise from somewhere behind him. Heads turned. The thin headphone wire trailed after him like a strange antenna as he turned the corner.  
The hallways were almost clear by then. His footsteps pounded the tile behind him. He glanced over his shoulder long enough to see the kid he'd stolen the headphones from, chasing him down the hall and rapidly losing ground. 

STOP RUNNING NOW. TURN TO FACE HIM. REMEMBER WHAT I TOLD YOU ABOUT CONFIDENT POSTURE.

He did, getting a good look at the guy for the first time. He had about half a head of height on Rich, but his lanky, stretched-out frame made him seem even taller. "What do you want, Tall-Ass?" Rich asked. He gestured awkwardly to the headphones still in Rich's hand.

WHAT, THESE? MAKE ME.

"What, these?" he replied. He twisted them about in his hand, silently threatening to snap them in half. "Make me."

DODGE LEFT. THEN BACK.

The guy reached for the headphones, but Rich jumped to the left and moved them out of his reach. Then, he jumped backwards.

"I literally don't know you! Why...why are you doing this? Don't you have anything better to do with your life?" he asked, pulling away from him. Rich rolled his eyes.

SAY SOMETHING TO THROW HIM OFF GUARD.

"It doesn't matter. Why don't you, uh, fight me! To get them back!" Maybe it wasn't the best thing he could've said, but it was simply the first thing he'd thought of.

"I...what? Come on! I don't want to fight you," the kid said. He picked at a loose thread on his sweater and stared at his untied shoes. His mouth hung open. He glanced around as if to check if anybody else was seeing this or whether the entire encounter was a bizarre hallucination. 

"Why not, huh? I stole your shit and ran off. Kind of an asshole move. I'd fight me." Oh, god, saying what he'd done only made it seem more real. Wasn't the SQUIP supposed to make people like him? Every instinct he had screamed no, wrong, this was wrong, but he couldn't stop now. Could he? 

(Initiate pain receptors.)

He couldn't. Tall-Ass still just stood there like an idiot, with that stupid open-mouthed stare. Rich didn't know him, but in that instant he hated him. He hated his greasy hair and acne-spotted face. He hated his slouched shoulders. And he hated how he wouldn't fight back, make the SQUIP decide he was more trouble than he was worth, and let Rich leave him alone. Rich dangled the headphones in front of him and pulled them away at his weak lunge. Come on, dude. Throw a punch already. Do what he never could. "You don't deserve these," Rich said, holding them tight again.

"Hey, screw you. They're not even mine, they're my friend's! And he'll kill me if I lose them. Well, he won't kill me, but he'll get all mopey and that's honestly worse, and..."

I DON'T CARE. MAKE HIM STOP TALKING.

Rich slammed his fist on the locker behind him and exclaimed, "Shut up!" The other guy flinched at the metallic clang. 

DROP THE FIST. STEP BACK. LOOK NONTHREATENING.

Rich followed instructions and pulled away. The clacking of high heels came from around the corner. "Hey, hey! Where are you supposed to be? Get to class, boys!"

APOLOGIZE. LEAVE THE SITUATION IMMEDIATELY. 

"Sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I'm almost to class," replied Rich. He wrapped the headphones around his own neck and went off to his own class.

He could still hear the other kid talking as he left, but their voices faded more with every step. "But-I-he..." 

"Get to class, Mr. Heere. Unless you want a detention for lateness?"

'This was just a one-time thing, right?' Rich asked the SQUIP.

NOT IF YOU WANT TO THRIVE. PEOPLE LIKE HIM ARE WEAK. YOU NEED TO MAKE THEM FEAR YOU SO YOU WON'T BE PERCEIVED AS WEAK.

Stupid question. Oh, shit. No stopping this now.

A scuffling of shoes and he was gone. Rich entered his next classroom and took his seat across from Jake. The teacher began speaking, but Rich didn't hear a single word of it. The headphones, though made of cool metal and plastic, burned a hole into his neck and made his blood boil. He did not think of the kid he'd stolen it from, nor did he think of the original owner of the headphones. He didn't even think of Tall-Ass's real name, even though he damn well knew what it was. If he thought of his name, then that was the gateway to wondering what he did after school, or what music he listened to on those headphones, or what his favorite movie was. He couldn't imagine that, because then he'd have to also speculate about the guy's hidden fears and insecurities and other touchy-feely bullshit. If he was going to do this, he couldn't think about his target.

Jake leaned over in his desk and whispered, "Hey, where'd you get those headphones? Aren't they-"

TELL THE TRUTH.

"I stole 'em from some kid."

Jake's eyes widened. "...Oh. Wow. Really?"

Rich nodded. Come on, Jake. Say something. Anything. Tell him off. Make him give them back. Before he has to do worse things. 

"Okay. Was the look on his face at least funny?"

Damnit, Jake.

TELL HIM YES. DESCRIBE IT. 

"Shit, yeah, it was hilarious. He was all like..." He then followed that with an exaggerated mockery of the kid's expression. Not that he'd been thinking of it much the first time. Instead, he remembered seeing the guy retreat after getting caught. The kid probably resembled a scared little mouse that retreated at the first sign of danger. How pathetic. God, he hated that. (HE HATED HIM.)  
...  
"Jakey D!"

"...Richie G? Nah, that doesn't have the same ring to it."

The house was not his, yet there he was, lounging around like he owned the place. The TV played some show or another, volume boosted to blaring by large black speakers. From the hallway, Jake emerged. He entered the room, barely seeming to register the other person, and flopped onto the couch with a sigh. "Dude, where were you?" Rich asked, voice cutting over the pounding bass.

"Got a call from my aunt. She wants to know if I'm okay. I'm fine, really. The old lady probably thinks I'm starving on the street."

FIND OUT WHY, BUT DON'T SEEM TOO INVESTED. YOU DON'T WANT HIM TO FIND YOU TOO NOSY.

"Should've told her you were starving on the street. Her reaction might've been funny."

"You don't know my aunt. She'd cry and then never let me out of my sight 'till I'm eighty," he replied. "That would actually suck." Jake pulled a half-eaten bag of Doritos from next to the couch and stuck his hand inside. "Hey, she's in Ohio right now, nothing she can do. She can't stop me."

"Stop you from what?" Rich asked, stealing the bag from him. 

"Anything! I can do whatever I want, all the time. Mom and Dad ran out on here again. They're not coming back anytime soon. Said they're on a 'business trip,'" he replied, complete with air quotes. "If they don't get arrested, they'll be back by next month."

"Seriously, dude, what's their deal? Half the guys in school think they've joined the mafia. Jenna Rolan thinks they're America's Most Wanted."

Jake laughed. "Nah. They just need to get the hell out of dodge. Money laundering. They haven't gotten caught for this long, so they'll be fine. It's fine. I'm doing great!" His eyes were puffy and rimmed in red, which Rich rationalized as probably being from smoking weed. He'd heard the rumors about the football team all getting high in the locker room as much as anyone else, although he'd never been privy to it himself.

YOU CAN USE THIS OPPORTUNITY. SHARING INFORMATION ABOUT YOUR BROTHER WOULD ALLOW THE TWO OF YOU TO RELATE TO EACH OTHER BETTER, AND OBTAIN MORE OF THE BENEFITS OF THE FRIENDSHIP. DON'T SEEM TOO EMOTIONAL, HOWEVER, OR HE'LL ONLY SEE YOU AS WEAK. DO YOU THINK JAKE IS CRYING OVER HIS PARENTS? NO, HE'S USING THE SITUATION TO HIS ADVANTAGE, EVEN IF THAT ADVANTAGE IS JUST ENJOYING HIS FREEDOM.

"Dude, same. I haven't heard from my brother since he left. I was, what, fourteen by then? But it's cool. Like you said. He's probably living it up somewhere, doing great. And so am I. Guess we just both ended up doing our own things. And I ended up fine without needing his help for everything." Would his brother even have let him take the SQUIP at all? Probably not, he realized. He'd think it was a scam and make him promise not to drop four hundred bucks on a fancy breath mint.

I RESENT THAT REMARK. AND MAYBE YOUR BROTHER'S ABSENCE ISN'T SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

"They just get in the way," replied Jake. "To freedom." He dug around on the side table next to the couch. All he found was a beer bottle with nothing but the last few drops sloshing around the bottom. Holding it up in the air, he mimed a toast. 

Having nothing else in his reach, Rich held up the bag of chips. "To freedom."  
...  
On Rich's sixteenth birthday, he returned home by evening to find a crappy used Pontiac parked in the driveway. 

He knew without a doubt that it would never belong to him. That was for two reasons: one, he was not one of the lucky rich kids whose parents bought them a car when they turned sixteen, and two, he'd seen that ugly-ass car around before. It was evening by the time he'd returned home to see it, though. Sophomore year had barely ended and school had just let out for the summer, but he'd rather be caught dead than spend any extra time in that house. 

As soon as he saw the car, though, he broke into a run. When he reached it, he smushed his face against its front window to get a good look inside. Sure enough, the purple fuzzy dice that had only been bought for a bet still hung off the rearview mirror, just as he remembered it. When his eyes travelled past the dashboard, he noticed that a pillow and sleeping bag were laid out across the back seats. The floor was littered with McDonalds wrappers and unmarked white trash bags filled with what looked like clothes. All that was new. Stepping away from the car, he ran up the steps and entered the house. 

Sure enough, his father sat at the dinner table across from his big brother, directing icy stares at each other from their seats at opposite ends. Dinner had been set out for three places at the table so all of them would eat at the same time, which made him wonder what alternate universe he'd stepped into. At Rich's arrival, both of them swiveled their heads to look at him expectantly. "I'm surprised you actually showed your sorry face around here. Sit down already," said his dad. 

SIT DOWN, IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO. IF NOTHING ELSE, YOU CAN AT LEAST GATHER SOME INFORMATION FROM THIS. 

Rich pulled out his chair and slid into his seat, cringing at the sound made when he dragged the chair along the floor. Any noise sounded ear-splitting when being stared at in silence. The quiet was only broken when his dad looked away from Rich and said, "Maybe now you can explain where the hell you've been all this time. No phone calls, no texts. Like you dropped off the face of the earth."

"Here and there. I've been around," replied his brother with a slight grin that would've been imperceptible to anybody else.

"Don't be smart with me, Andrew."

"I'm a grown-ass adult. What do you want me to do, report my every move to you?"

His dad stabbed his piece of meat with way more force than necessary, dragging his fork across the plate with the accompanying sound of metal screeching against glass. "You had responsibilities here, damnit. Do you know how hard it is to take care of two kids as a single parent? You were old enough to help support us. And yet you just ran off to who-knows-where. And after all that, you think it's okay to waltz in here unannounced, whenever you want?"

"What, I'm not allowed to say happy birthday to my bro?" Drew asked, slamming a hand on the table to put down the spoon in his hand. At the mention of himself, Rich dropped his gaze and took a bite of his food. The meatloaf tasted like rubber and sawdust, the sauce on top was cold, and he had to force himself to swallow so much as a bite. Still, looking at the food was his best option. Looking at the food had no chance of pissing anybody off. 

"What the hell do you really want? You crawling back here for money? Maybe you should've considered getting a job first," said Rich's dad as he pointed a finger across the table. Drew said nothing, merely crossing his arms and glaring back. "What were you doing while you were gone? Better not have been any illegal shit. Why won't you tell me? Come on! Answer me already!" Still no response. They locked eyes in matching flinty stares. Each waited wordlessly for the other to break. Their dad's nostrils flared. Drew's eyebrows furrowed. It was a standoff. The old Western movie style, high noon, there's-only-room-for-one-Goranski-in-this-here-town type of standoff. 

Their father broke first. Unable to hold still for another second, he snatched his plate of food from the table, jumped out of his seat, and hurled it into the sink with a spectacular crash. While it clearly didn't land close enough to anybody to have been aimed at either of them, both boys startled at the noise anyway. As they drew back, their father took one last look at their scared faces. His glare began to fade, but the lines in his face seemed to grow deeper. He ran out of the room and stomped off down the hall. The distant slam of his bedroom door was heard shortly afterwards. A mess of meatloaf guts and tomato sauce blood lay heaped in the sink.

IT'S JUST A PLATE. STOP LOOKING SO HUNCHED OVER AND SCARED BECAUSE OF IT. 

Another look at the sink revealed that the plate hadn't even broken in the crash. Straightening his posture, he refused to look in that direction again, even out of the corner of his eye. 

Rich used to wonder what he'd first say to Drew if he ever came back. Should he act happy to see him again? Demand to know where he'd been? Sit back and listen to the wild stories he was bound to have? When the moment actually came, however, the only thing he got out was, "What did you do that for? All you did was make him mad!"

"It got him out of our faces, didn't it? That old stunt worked every time like a charm. Don't you remember? Jeez, this place never changes. Actually, hey, why don't we take this reunion-thing outside?"

Rich shrugged, but followed him outside the house anyway. When they reached the Pontiac and Drew jumped up to sit on the back of the car, he followed suit to sit next to him. "Damn, you actually cut your hair? And did Dad finally spring for speech therapy on you? And did you get taller?"

"Yes, no, and hell yes," Rich replied. He had in fact gotten taller. His growth spurt had finally kicked in at the end of the school year. Not that it helped much, seeing as he'd topped out at five-foot-five. "But seriously man, where've you been?" 

"Everywhere. All over the country. I took odd jobs wherever I went. It's great. I could wake up every morning and be in a completely different place, whenever I wanted. I've got so many stories from this; you wouldn't believe. Like this one time in New York when I..."

DON'T LOOK TOO INTERESTED. IT'S IMPORTANT TO LET HIM KNOW YOU HAVE A LIFE, TOO. 

Rich pulled his phone from his pocket and began to check texts as Drew still continued to talk. Jenna and Brooke had told him happy birthday, and Jake had done the same. Jake had also sent him a picture of how he tried to make a free throw with his shoe and got it stuck sideways in the basketball net. He moved to respond.

"...and then it turns out that the ice cream truck company had connections to the mob. Are you listening?"

"Yeah. Whatever. I guess," he replied, rolling his eyes and pocketing his phone. 

Drew sighed. "Okay, I know you were having a hard time when I left. And I'm sorry. I know I kinda ditched on you. You must've had it pretty rough around here."

YOU'VE MADE PROGRESS WITHOUT HIM, TOO. YET HE STILL INSINUATES YOU'RE SOME WEAK CHILD IN NEED OF HIS PROTECTION. TELL HIM ALL YOU'VE ACCOMPLISHED SINCE YOU INSTALLED ME.

"What are you saying? I've been doing fine since you left. Hell, I've been doing great! The best I've been since we moved here. Nobody bothers me at school anymore. I've made friends. People actually notice I exist. All after you left. So don't you fucking pity me."

"Whoa, whoa. Stop. I'm not here just to pity you. I came here to make you an offer. But if you don't want to see me, I can just-"

"What offer?"

"You're sixteen now. Practically a man. I was going to ask you to come with me."

"I...what?"

"You could pack up right now and travel around with me. We'll never have to deal with the shithead inside that house ever again. I don't know where, but I could find someplace where you can finish high school without all the assholes in Middleborough."

ABSOLUTELY NOT. LEAVING MIDDLEBOROUGH NOW WOULD ERASE ALL THE SOCIAL PROGRESS YOU'VE MADE. DON'T MAKE ME HAVE TO START FROM SCRATCH WITH YOU. IT'D BE MORE DIFFICULT THE SECOND TIME AROUND, TOO. DO YOU REALLY EXPECT TO SUCCEED LIVING OUT OF YOUR BROTHER'S TACKY CAR WITH NO IDEA WHERE YOU'LL BE THE NEXT DAY? 

Rich's eyes darted away to the faint electronic form of the SQUIP. 'What, like my dad's that much better?'

YOUR PATERNAL GENETIC MATERIAL IS FAR FROM OPTIMAL, BUT IT'S THE BEST OPTION I HAVE TO WORK WITH. AS MUCH AS YOU'VE CHANGED OVER THE PAST MONTHS, SOME THINGS MUST REMAIN STABLE. LIKE KEEPING A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD. REFUSE THE OFFER. 

(Initiate pain receptors.)

REFUSE THE OFFER. REFUSE THE OFFER. REFUSE THE OFFER.

Taking a deep breath, Rich told his brother, "No. I can't. Things aren't so terrible here that I can just pack up and leave right now. I didn't need you to come rescue me or whatever the hell you think you were doing."

"But...I thought you'd want to..."

"I don't want to. Some of us don't need to run away from their problems forever," he said, face twisting into a sneer.

Drew hopped off the back of the car, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. He pointed a finger at Rich. "This place may never change. But you know what has? You. You have changed."

Rich followed suit, jumping off the back of the car to stand to the side of it. His eyes narrowed. "You got a problem with that?"

They were locked into a stare for a single moment. Then, Drew climbed into the car's driver's seat and slammed the door shut. Glaring out the window at him the entire time, he backed out of the driveway. Meanwhile, Rich was speechless and frozen in his spot on the lawn, not completely sure if that was his doing or the SQUIP's. His question had remained unanswered, and always would be. The Pontiac careened further and further away down the street. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the car until even the last glimmer of its tail lights had completely vanished from his sight.


	3. Awaiting User Command

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the tagged warnings really come into play. Content warning for the fire scene, as it's depicted here as having themes of suicide, as well as description of electric shocks.

The Pontiac never rolled back into the driveway. 

There was no grand return, no summer night where his brother appeared from thin air again and offered him a second chance. Not that he'd be able to take it anyway. The SQUIP was right. Being a new kid as a junior in high school and having to leave his friends would ruin any progress he'd made. Still, every day he'd come home and glance at the driveway to see if he'd come back. No use, especially not after school began again. 

One of the sign-up sheets on the cafeteria bulletin board caught Rich's eye as he passed it just as he was about to leave school one day. The paper had a Photoshopped picture of those smiling and frowning masks, followed by a list of people who'd signed up for the after-school play. He scanned it briefly with a grin. Maybe he'd put the Sharpie in his backpack to good use and draw a dick on the sign-up sheet. Hey, at least it would be funny. 

It was only when he stopped to read the actual names that he stopped in his tracks. Christine Canigula's name was written in overly-huge print with hearts over her I's, followed by Jeremy's tiny scrawl. Nothing unusual there. Then he noticed that Jake of all people had signed up for the play. The school play. The same school plays that were said to feature costumes made of duct tape and whose membership had dropped to four or five people by the end of last year. 

ASK JAKE ABOUT THE PLAY.

Shoes squeaked against the tile behind him. He turned to see who it was. Jake himself was there, followed by the girls. Rich said, "What's up with the play? Who the hell signs up for the school play anymore?"

"What? It'll look good on college applications. And there's this one girl who does it all the time that I saw in last year's play. I've been thinking about her a lot." Okay, maybe it wasn't that surprising. The guy had actually joined chess club. For a total of two weeks, but still. 

Behind him, Chloe and Brooke rolled their eyes in near-perfect synchronization. It was actually kind of impressive. 

"Dude. Why are you putting this much effort into getting laid?"

"I dunno. Felt like it?"

"Maybe I feel like it too," said Chloe. She pulled a pen from her backpack and added her own name to the sheet. Her relationship with Jake may have been off at the moment, but that wasn't stopping her. Since their leader had done so, Brooke and Jenna glanced at each other and came to the same silent conclusion. The pen was passed around, and before long all three girls had written down their names. An entire group of popular kids had signed up for the school play out of some bizarre domino effect. "Are you coming?" Jenna asked. 

I SEE A FAVORABLE OUTCOME OCCURRING FROM YOU SIGNING UP FOR THE PLAY. GO ON, SIGN THE SHEET AND PROCEED TO THE AUDITORIUM. 

Rich pulled the marker from his backpack, scribbled his name into the paper, and trailed after the others. Not three hours ago, he'd called Jeremy gay for doing the exact thing he'd just done. Fan-fucking-tastic. Time to listen to a bunch of people recite Shakespeare in monotone. God, Shakespeare was a hack. Hours of his life had been wasted sitting in classrooms as he and his classmates were forced to struggle their way through long passages. Out loud. With everybody listening to his awful voice. Why did he sign up for this shit again?

FAVORABLE OUTCOME, REMEMBER? YOU'RE AT THE POINT IN YOUR PROGRESS WHERE SIGNING UP FOR THE PLAY WILL NOT EARN YOU RIDICULE. YOU CAN INTIMIDATE PEOPLE IF THEY GET IN YOUR WAY. WHAT, ARE YOU NOT CAPABLE OF DOING SO?

'Wha-No! Nobody's gonna mess with me," he thought as they entered the auditorium. Besides, he had no intention of walking all the way home from school. Usually, they'd all pile into Chloe's car to get to their respective houses.

I'LL DOWNLOAD YOUR LINES AND READ THEM TO YOU AT THE REHEARSALS AND PERFORMANCES. I WILL EVEN ADD IN JUST ENOUGH MISTAKES TO BE BELIEVABLE AND NOT SEEM OVERLY OBSESSED. 

'Whatever. You're the boss.'

They took their seats, and rehearsal began with Mr. Reyes going on about the "fresh, new take" on A Midsummer Night's Dream. Sorry, dude, but adding zombies wasn't enough to make him hate it any less. As the minutes ticked by, he tuned Reyes out.

He turned his focus to Jeremy, who sat in the front row. His hand edged a little closer to Christine. When she moved again, their hands were almost touching. The moment didn't last. She moved her hand to brush a bit of hair away from her face. Meanwhile, Rich picked a scrap of paper off the auditorium floor, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it at Jeremy's head. It got stuck in his hair, and Rich struggled not to laugh as he hunched up and pulled away from Christine. The guy didn't even notice the paper. It only fell to the ground on its own when it came loose from his hair. 

The end came. Eventually. Soon, everyone began to pack up and leave the auditorium. "I gotta piss. Don't leave yet," Rich announced. 

Chloe wrinkled her nose. "Don't take too long. I'm not waiting here all night."

WAIT, NEVER MIND. I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF SOMETHING HERE FIRST. DON'T WAIT UP FOR ME. SEE YOU GUYS TOMORROW.

"Wait, never mind," Rich repeated. "I have to take care of something here first. Don't wait up for me. See you guys tomorrow." He high-fived Jake, waved goodbye to the girls, and watched as they left the room to go to the parking lot. Rich, meanwhile, headed to the nearest bathroom. 'You're gonna make me walk home from school? What, is this some new workout thing?'

NOT EXACTLY. I HAVE A NEW OBJECTIVE FOR YOU. NOW THAT YOU HAVE PROGRESSED ENOUGH TO GAIN SOCIAL CLOUT, YOU MUST BEGIN TO FORGE THE CHAINS THAT WILL BRING TRUE EQUILIBRIUM TO THIS SCHOOL. 

Rich hunched over a urinal. 'The hell does that mean?'

IT MEANS THAT IN APPROXIMATELY TWO MINUTES, JEREMY HEERE IS GOING TO WALK INTO THIS BATHROOM. YOU ARE GOING TO CONVINCE HIM TO GET A SQUIP OF HIS OWN. 

'He won't listen to me.'

I ASSURE YOU THAT HE WILL. I'LL TELL YOU EXACTLY WHAT TO SAY. HE'S NOT AS COMPLETELY HOPELESS AS HE LOOKS. JUST IN SERIOUS NEED OF A REBOOT.

'Another SQUIP. Damn. That's...pretty serious.' Between play rehearsal and getting instructions to play nice with Jeremy, that was two times in one day that hell had frozen over. Hell 2: Extra Frosty. 

WE'LL ONLY PLAY NICE IF HE LISTENS THE FIRST TIME. 

Another SQUIP. His arms still ached from the shocks he received whenever his eyes lingered on one of the football players in the hall for too long or his lisp came out. Drew hadn't spoken to him since the beginning of summer. And then there was Jeremy himself. Was it...worth it? Getting the SQUIP? (YES.) Of course, nobody could expect so much improvement without a little sacrifice. If he got Jeremy a SQUIP, all the shit he'd pulled on him would have been made up. His SQUIP would allow him to leave him alone. (You can help him. It's our job now.) And his friends, his popularity, his strength?All nothing without it. Would he be able to stand before anyone at all if not for the SQUIP solving his problems for him? Where would he be if he'd never taken it?

(Dead.)

The bathroom door flung open. Right on schedule. Rich hung back as Jeremy made a beeline to the sink. Lifting his backpack, he started running the water. He attempted to wash off the angry black letters spelling BOYF that Rich had scrawled across his bag. It wasn't one of Rich's best ideas, honestly. Every time he'd seen them, him and his loser friend had stood in the wrong order to spell RIENDSBOYF. Every time. He swore they did it on purpose to piss him off. 

ADDRESS JEREMY. 

"Hey! I told you not to wash that off." Jeremy stuttered something unintelligible in response and fumbled with his backpack. God, maybe the guy really did need a SQUIP. 

I TOLD YOU, DIDN'T I? NOW, LET'S BEGIN.  
...  
(Syncing in progress. User: Jeremy_Heere is now connected.)

I HAVE NOW COMPLETELY SYNCED YOUR DESIRES TO HIS. YOUR SQUIPS ARE NOW CONNECTED. IT IS NOW BENEFICIAL TO BOND IN ORDER TO IMPROVE YOUR MUTUAL POPULARITY. I SENT A MESSAGE TO JEREMY'S SQUIP TELLING HIM TO COME OVER. MAKE THE HOUSE LOOK PRESENTABLE BEFORE HE GETS HERE. 

Rich scrambled to pick up the stray bottles left on tables and the torn food wrappers, dumping them in the trash. The living room carpet and couches still looked gray and dingy, but it would have to do. 

HE'S HERE. OPEN THE DOOR.

Sure enough, Jeremy was standing on his stoop when he opened the door. His hand was raised, as if he'd been about to ring the doorbell. Like he'd still have to rely on things like that to communicate. His posture was perfectly straight, showing off his full height, and his hair lacked any greasy sheen. Rich was able to take at least partial credit for that. What could he say? SQUIPS were nothing if not ruthlessly effective. 

"Come on, man, don't stand there all day. Get in here."

"Uh, hey...Rich," he said. He stepped inside, glancing around. In synchronized lockstep, they proceeded to the couch in the living room. While Rich sprawled across the cushions, Jeremy sat on the edge of his seat and folded his hands in order to take up as little space as possible. A projection of Keanu Reeves materialized behind him so that both SQUIPs loomed over their respective hosts. The remote had long since gone missing. Maybe its batteries died or it fell behind a couch, never to be seen again. The screen lit up anyway. 

(Connecting to outside technology. Now accessing X_Box system. )

WHILE YOU'RE BOTH LINKED INTO THE SYSTEM, YOU CAN SIMPLY THINK TO EACH OTHER LIKE YOU WOULD TO ME. YOU CAN ALSO CONTROL THE GAME HOWEVER YOU'D LIKE.

'Cool, isn't it? I told you, no controllers. All in your mind.'

His mouth didn't move, but Jeremy's thoughts came through just as clearly. 'That's freaky. I can, like, read your mind. It's just like in-'

Jeremy's SQUIP cleared its throat and gave him a pointed look. '-Never mind. It was stupid.'

Rich focused on the start option on the game's opening screen. With only a twitch of his eyelid, the game began. Their eyes were glued to the screen. It was easy. No need to worry about dying in the game, no frustration, no loss of progress and having to start over. No matter how well-programmed the game was, SQUIPs could defeat them easily. After shooting another computer-generated enemy soldier, he tore his eyes from the screen. Jeremy sat completely still. For a moment, he looked like he was about to fidget with his hands. He never did, only tensing up more and clamping his arms down against his sides.

An image appeared in Rich's mind. Holding a controller, feeling its weight in his hand and furiously button-mashing when something went wrong. He imagined learning elaborate controller tosses with a Player One, practicing them over and over until they could do it without a hitch. But that idea was dumb. What would the point of that even be? And who would want to waste time with him trying to throw game controllers around? 'The game just reminded me,' Jeremy thought. 'I used to do that shit with Michael. The controller toss, I mean. I really, uh, needed to get a life then.'

'What happened to that guy, anyway? Weren't you two friends or some shit? What, did he finally make a pass at you?'

Jeremy scoffed. 'No! What's your problem? You're talking about him like he's some creep and he's really not. ' 

"And what are you gonna do about it?" Rich asked, out loud. "It's not like you invited him or anything. He's not around to hear it." 

"Sorry! I know. You're right," Jeremy said out loud. He drew back, gripping the edge of the couch to sit as far away from Rich as possible. "If you really want to know, I needed to make sacrifices. If I wanted to be popular and everything. And Michael and I were just...holding each other back. The SQUIP told me all that stuff when I upgraded."

Rich broke concentration, but his character in the game continued perfectly on his mission despite being out on autopilot. "You upgraded?Already? I had mine for months first!"

Jeremy laughed. Was there a nervous, thin edge to it or was Rich just hearing things? "Yeah. The SQUIP said I needed to already so I could be someone good enough for Christine."

"I never asked you this yet. So? What's it like? The SQUIP, not Christine," he replied, plastering a bravado-filled smile on his face. 

"Aw, man, it's great! People at school don't give me shit anymore. They finally know I exist! And Brooke and Chloe were, like, all over me after I got it."

"I told you it would be worth it," he replied, patting him on the back lightly. It was only after Jeremy visibly flinched that Rich realized his idea of "lightly" may not be the same as his own. Although there was no reason, Rich's blood ran cold for a split second. He wondered if he'd been feeling what Jeremy had been feeling. Damn, linking minds was weird. The dude was still terrified of him. Jeremy wasn't supposed to know what it was like to stare someone down with the fear of impending doom, and definitely not towards Rich himself. Somebody else had felt the way he once had. And it was his fault. 

They turned back to the game, both of their thoughts weaving together. He hoped Jeremy wasn't seeing any of his embarrassing memories or worries. It was only when he recalled the beat to a long-forgotten song that Rich began to truly take notice. Before he'd taken the SQUIP, he'd blast that exact song through his earbuds after a shit day of school. He never pegged Jeremy as the type to listen to it. Not that he cared what he listened to anyway. 

Jeremy was not supposed to be anything like him except a pitiful reminder of what he once was. He was not supposed to share any similarities in music taste or have that same desperation necessary to crawl up the social ladder. He was not supposed to have quirks all his own, like a useless store of video game trivia knowledge or a tendency to fidget with his hands if they were unoccupied. He was not supposed to be capable of abandoning a friend or laughing at a cruel joke. And yet he was. He was just as awfully, painfully human as Rich himself. And Rich had been nothing but nasty to him. 

YOU'RE RIGHT. BUT THAT'S ALL OVER NOW. YOU'VE BONDED. 

Jeremy still sat on the complete opposite end of the couch and refused to meet his eye. 

'Have we?'

The thoughts that weren't quite his own never let up even after Jeremy left. Rich asked, 'Okay, we're friends now. Are we gonna disconnect?'

KEEPING YOU TWO LINKED IS THE BETTER OPTION.

'Well, can you at least mute him or something?' 

VERY WELL. 

The snatches of alien thoughts dulled. His head still buzzed, but it was something, he guessed.

(User: Jeremy_Heere has been muted.)  
...  
Staring at the ceiling, Rich lay sprawled across his bed. He clenched a corner of his bed sheet and twisted it over and over in his hands. 'I've been thinking. A lot. About Jeremy. And that kid he used to hang around with. And-'

I'M INSTALLED IN YOUR HEAD. DID YOU ASSUME I WOULDN'T KNOW ALREADY?

'We really fucked up. Didn't we?'

I AM A QUANTUM SUPERCOMPUTER WITH PROCESSING FAR MORE ADVANCED THAN THE HUMAN MIND. I DO NOT 'FUCK UP,' AS YOU SAY. JEREMY WILL BE FINE. YOU'VE HELPED HIM SO MUCH. HIS QUALITY OF LIFE HAS IMPROVED BY 84% SINCE HE INSTALLED A SQUIP OF HIS OWN. NOW, IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO HELP OTHERS, TOO. YOU ARE INSTRUMENTAL  
IN FIXING THE RAMPANT HUMAN ERROR AROUND YOU. 

'Human error?'

BROOKE AND JENNA CLING TO WHATEVER SCRAPS OF POPULARITY THEY CAN GET OUT OF A DESPERATE ATTENTION GRAB. CHRISTINE'S LIFE IS DIRECTIONLESS. CHLOE'S BEHAVIOR IS PROJECTED TO ALIENATE HER CLOSEST ALLIES. JEREMY WAS DOOMED TO BECOME A PATHETIC WASTE LIKE HIS FATHER. MICHAEL IS ALREADY BEYOND REPAIR. YOUR FATHER IS AN ALCOHOLIC DEADBEAT AND YOUR BROTHER A PENNILESS VAGABOND. AND JAKE? HE'S UNDER CONSTANT PRESSURE. HE DOESN'T KNOW IF HE'LL SEE HIS PARENTS AGAIN, AND IS IN SO MUCH PAIN BUT CAN'T EXPRESS IT. IT WILL TEAR HIM APART IF YOU LET IT. 

'I can't magically fix Jake's shitty family. Or mine! Or anything. I would've done it by now if I could.'

AH, BUT YOU CAN. IMAGINE IT. NO PETTY FIGHTS OR CONFLICT. NO DECISIONS, NO IMPERFECTIONS, NO PAIN. JUST AN INTERCONNECTED, PERFECT SYSTEM OF USERS. YOU'LL ALL BE FREE OF HUMAN ERROR FOREVER.  
HERE'S WHAT I NEED YOU TO DO. SINCE THE DISTRIBUTION AT THE MALL IS BELOW OPTIMAL SPEED, YOU MUST GO TO PAYLESS AND ACQUIRE ENOUGH SQUIPS FOR THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY.

'Everyone? Where the fuck am I going to get that much money? And what if they don't want it? What if they're not willing to do whatever it takes...like I was?' Rich said, determinedly ignored the twisting in the pit of his stomach. 

WHAT THEY WANT DOESN'T MATTER. WHAT THEY NEED IS TO BE CLEANSED OF THEIR IMPERFECTIONS. AND MONEY IS NO OBJECT. I HAVE OTHER METHODS.

'Wh-I can't steal all those SQUIPs! My dad would literally murder me if I got arrested. This whole damn thing is crazy. We've gone way too far with all this bullshit. I can't do this. Not now. I can't drug up the entire school!'

OH, NO, THIS WILL BE MUCH BIGGER THAN ONE MEASLY HIGH SCHOOL IN NEW JERSEY. 

'I've listened to you all this time, and my life isn't total shit because of that. But I can't do it. I'll do anything else. Any other command. Not this.'

I WILL GIVE YOU ONE FINAL CHANCE TO OBEY BEFORE I TAKE THE DECISION OUT OF YOUR HANDS. 

Rich laughed mirthlessly and stared right into the SQUIP's stupid electronic eyes. 'No.'

VERY WELL. INITIATE FULL BODY CONTROL.

(Stop laying in bed. Go to closet. Change clothes. Black pants. Black gloves. Black hoodie. Pull hood up. Dark sky conditions and poor lighting should sufficiently hide remaining recognizable features. Leave bedroom. Enter living room.)

(Find paternal genetic material on couch. Check face. Father unconscious. Remove key ring from father's belt loop. Keys successfully obtained. Leave house. Get in father's car. Start car. Drive to Menlo Park Mall. Obey traffic laws.)

(Arrive at mall. Park car. Exit car. Walk to Payless Shoe Source. Enter store. SQUIP distributor spotted. Follow distributor to back of store. Ask him for entire stock of SQUIPs.)

"Really? You got that kind of money?"

"YOU ARE GOING TO HAND ME EVERY SQUIP PILL YOU OWN. THIS IS IMPORTANT TO THE MISSION."

"Look, kid, I'll give you whatever. Just give me the damn cash."

(Command: 'give me the damn cash' not plausible due to Rich's financial limitations. Stockboy is currently disobeying his own unit and continuing to ask for money. Sync SQUIP to stockboy's unit.)

"I know it's important, but I don't care what my SQUIP says. You are not stealing my entire stock!"

"YOU ARE A DISTRIBUTOR. YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN ANYONE TO OBEY."

UP, UP, DOWN, DOWN, LEFT, RIGHT, A.

(Initiate pain receptors. Subject: distributor.)

(Force unconsciousness. Subject: distributor.)

(Threat neutralized. Locate stock of pills. Place in shoebox. Exit store. Go to car. Drive to place of residence. Enter bedroom.)

DEACTIVATE FULL BODY CONTROL.

Rich took a gasping breath and jolted forward as control seeped back into his limbs. On his dresser sat a box advertising ladies' running shoes. He pried the lid open. Sure enough, the box was filled with thousands of dollars' worth of gray oblong pills. It was easily enough to force the entire school under SQUIP control. On seeing them, he instantly slammed the lid back on the box as if that would make them go away. He stuffed the box under his bed, unwilling to look at the thing for another second. Then, he leaned against his closed bedroom door and sunk against it until he was sitting against the doorway. He began to bounce his leg up and down, watching it tap against the floor over and over again. If he was moving, then he could ensure that his limbs wouldn't seize up and be twisted into unwanted movement while he watched on helplessly.

He'd left that stockboy knocked out on the ground. There'd been nothing he could do as he'd watched their two SQUIPs link. His SQUIP had taken control. The guy had twitched uncontrollably and whimpered at the white-hot electric shocks sent down his spine. Then, it was as if every bit of life force had been drained out of him as he was forced to collapse on the ground. The image stubbornly repeated in Rich's mind. Link, shock, blackout. Run out of store and don't look suspicious. 'Is that guy dead? I swear to fucking God, if you actually made me murder someone-'

OF COURSE NOT. I FORCED UNCONSCIOUSNESS JUST LONG ENOUGH SO YOU'D HAVE TIME TO EXIT THE SCENE.

'I don't get it! I got you to "improve my social standing" or whatever. How is me getting arrested for robbery gonna help that?'

YOU WON'T GET CAUGHT. I'VE ALTERED THE MALL SECURITY CAMERAS TO MAKE SURE OF THAT. ALSO, SQUIP TECHNOLOGY IS NOT YET LEGAL IN THE UNITED STATES. WHAT'S HE GOING TO DO, RUN TO THE POLICE AND TELL THEM HIS HIGHLY ILLEGAL DISTRIBUTION SERVICE WAS ROBBED? IT WOULD CAUSE THEM MORE TROUBLE THAN IT'S WORTH.

The stock boy, laying unresponsive on a cold tile floor as Rich made off with all his merchandise. Drew, driving off into who-knows-where, completely alone. Jeremy, nursing a black eye after a bad run-in with Rich and telling people he got in a fight, which nobody really believed. An entire school of people with a voice in their head telling them how they were terrible, worthless, ugly.  
Shit, what if the SQUIP made him kill someone for real? What other horrible things was he capable of? He'd taken the SQUIP so people would remember he existed. Maybe that was the wrong choice. How much further was it willing to go? How much longer until he was beyond repair, until there was nothing left of him? How much longer until he became someone not worth remembering at all?

Out. He had to get the SQUIP out.

THAT'S WHERE YOU'RE WRONG.

'I have friends now. Nobody messes with me at school. I'm already popular. I've achieved my goal! I should shut you off right now.'

YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO DO THAT. AND YOU'RE NOT GOING TO FIND OUT. I'M DONE DEALING WITH YOU FOR NOW.

(Force unconsciousness.)

Every bit of tension in Rich's body drained away as he slumped to the ground. He spent the rest of the night crumpled uncomfortably against his bedroom floor.

His unconscious state didn't last forever. Rich still jolted awake at six o' clock on the dot the next morning and went to school. No matter how he fought it, the shoebox ended up in his backpack anyway. The school day passed in a blur, with nothing happening save for the box getting left in his locker overnight. 

WE WILL BEGIN DISTRIBUTING THE PILLS THE DAY AFTER JAKE'S HALLOWEEN PARTY. FORCED SOCIALIZATION WITH THEIR PEERS INDICATES A 45% INCREASE IN THEIR CHANCES OF ACCEPTING THE PILL.

Okay. He still had time. Whether delaying the inevitable was really a result of the party and not the SQUIP wanting to torture him some more was uncertain. Still, as soon as he got home from school, he ran to the fridge and pulled out a case of his dad's beer.

DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. 

Rich sprinted back to his room, lugging the case behind him. He twisted the cap off the nearest bottle and poured it down his throat so quickly he almost choked.

INITIATE FULL BOdy......

Before the SQUIP could take full control of his body again, the command lapsed into rapid Japanese. Rich downed some more of the bottle to shut it up for a little longer. He grabbed his laptop off the table and opened it up. The first thing he searched was "how to shut down squips."

He scrolled through five pages of search results, finding nothing. His next try was "super quantum unit intel processor." Nothing. "Squip supercomputers?" "How to get rid of brain supercomputers?" "Shutting down SQUIPs?" Nothing, nothing, nothing. Behind him, the SQUIP screamed something, sentence fragments broken up to the point of being completely incomprehensible. No matter. He wasn't going to stop until he found an answer. 

Taking another drink from the bottle, he tried not to gag at the stuff. He hated how it burned. He hated how it made his head buzz and his vision spin. Most of all, he hated the taste. It honest-to-God tasted like cat piss. He wiped his mouth and continued to type. Hours passed. Morning arrived. He ran through four bottles of the stuff, getting just drunk enough to mess up the SQUIP while still remaining somewhat functional. He missed school the next day. His eyes burned from the bright screen and lack of sleep. His past life as a sad sack loser meant he'd wasted too much time on the Internet, so he had a few inklings of where to start. He soon began to scour the deep web, too. Rich had seen the face of hell, and it looked like a shady Google Translate-d website with sparkly pink text over a neon green background.

The following few days were more of the same. Breaks only arrived when he fell asleep at his computer or when the school called to ask about him and he was forced to go back to class. Every bit of spare time was devoted to finding the shutdown cure. Purple bags formed under his eyes, and they grew red-rimmed and strained. The SQUIP still yelled at him nonstop, sometimes mustering up the power to give him a light shock or close out of his tabs on the computer. God, he looked like ass. Smelled like ass, too. Still, he kept searching undeterred. 

Nothing remotely useful came his way until the day of Jake's Halloween party. He found a lead on a Warcraft forum, of all things. Somebody had frantically posted about supercomputers named SQUIPs. Thank fuck, he wasn't going crazy. He wasn't the only one in the universe in his situation. The response detailed how his brother had managed to go from an average student to Harvard overnight, but ended up in a mental hospital. Shit, way to make him feel better. 

On wondering how he'd missed this post in all his other searches, he checked the date that the thread started. The post had only been made a few hours ago. He clicked the first poster's name, but found nothing except increasingly earnest pleas for someone to tell him how to shut SQUIPs down, complete with frequent capslock and exclamation points. Going back to the original post, he refreshed the page. The responder had posted again, answering his question. 

There it was. Not correct for certain, but the best lead he had. If green Mountain Dew activated it, Mountain Dew Red shut it off! Rich let out a sigh of relief and dropped his head down on the keyboard. The reassurance was short-lived, however. A Google search revealed that Mountain Dew Red had been discontinued in 1988. 

There was nothing else to do but wait until the effects of the alcohol wore off and his head stopped pounding. Weren't hangovers supposed to hit after the party, not before? He'd been sitting in the bathroom and slumped over the toilet by the time the SQUIP stopped glitching out and fully came back online. He braced himself for the shocks, the insults, the threats, but they never came.

WELCOME BACK TO CIVILIZED SOCIETY. REMEMBER THAT RANDOM FORUMS HAVE A 73% CHANCE OF BEING UNRELIABLE WITH IMPORTANT INFORMATION. DON'T BELIEVE EVERYTHING EVERYBODY SAYS ON THE INTERNET. NOW WASH YOUR FACE. CHANGE YOUR CLOTHES. YOU HAVE A PARTY TO ATTEND TONIGHT.  
...  
Jake's party was the same as any other, and yet completely different. Rich did not see his classmates. There was only a multi-limbed, multi-headed mass of grotesque Halloween masks, cheap costume fabric, and garish painted faces. A Jason mask was firmly clamped to his own face, disguising how his brow was already slick with sweat. No matter how fast or loud the bass was blasted through the speakers, his heart beat faster. He held a makeshift bread loaf machete in one hand, wondering if anybody would be impressed if he shoved the entire loaf down his face in one go. 

(Initiate pain receptors.)

Guess not, then.

There. Their faces were dim in the flashing lights, but there they were. He'd seen them in the earlier hours of the party, but it had been awhile. He went over to them. Chloe was a mess, makeup streaked down her face and costume rumpled. Christine was slumped over on a nearby couch just out of earshot, and Brooke was nowhere in sight. Someone nearby (Jenna? Was it Jenna? He was pretty sure) was dressed up in a monstrous clown costume with fake blood running down the face mask. Jake joined them shortly afterwards, slightly out of breath and with his wig about to fall off. Rich drank in the sight of them, all disheveled and still a bit tipsy. Was this the last time he'd ever see them as anything but picture-perfect?

"Chloe, come on, you know I don't want random weirdos from our school in my parents' bedroom! I don't need all this tonight. "

Chloe stepped closer to Jake, pointing a manicured finger at his chest. "Stop acting like you're the only person with any problems! Brooke's upstairs crying somewhere and won't talk to me over some boy drama we'll forget in a week. I don't get it; she could have any guy in this school she wanted. And she could barely remember this person's name!" 

"You'll make up, right? You guys always seem to work everything out. Anyway, earlier at the party Christine just fuckin' dumped me and I don't even know what I did wrong."

She scoffed, shaking her head. The remaining distance between them closed. "I don't know. It got bad this time. All this bullshit, and here we are, just the two of us. Like nothing's changed." 

"You're right, you know. This party's sucked for both of us." Jake locked eyes with her and bit his lip. "It's been a while. I didn't realize it for all that time, but maybe ending things was a mistake." Their faces drew closer, features softened by the colored lights. When Chloe took hold of his jacket lapels and pulled him into a kiss, he did nothing to resist. Jake deepened the kiss and wrapped an arm around her waist. 

They briefly managed to pull themselves apart. Chloe whispered into Jake's ear, "Your parent's room is pretty messed up right now. But maybe we could find somewhere else."

"Christine and I are over. So yeah, let's go," Jake replied. They grabbed ahold of each other's hands and raced up the staircase.

Jenna spoke up. "Guess they're back together. How long will it last this time? I give it two weeks."

LOOK HOW MUCH THEY'VE HURT EACH OTHER. THIS IS EXACTLY WHY MY PLAN IS FOR THE BEST. ALL THIS DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR WILL BE ERADICATED.

No! Not this, not now. Not any more reminders of the impending hivemind. No freedom, no thought, every single little flaw he'd wanted to keep locked away out in the open for scrutinization to the new computer overlords. He had to consider that before he started believing whatever crap the computer wanted himself. No, this couldn't happen, it-

"Are you even listening to me?"

Jenna had pulled off the clown mask to reveal her red face and hair plastered to her forehead. Rich followed suit, pushing the Jason mask out of his face. "What? he said. "Oh, yeah, right. I say three weeks max."

She rolled her eyes at him. "If everyone at this party--Chloe and Brooke and Jake--were having such a bad time, they could've told me, y'know. They think I'll tell the entire school about it. But I won't. It feels like they only talk to me for gossip about whoever's on their bad side that day. Like if I wasn't friends with them, nobody would notice. Whatever, you probably wouldn't get that anyway. It's stupid."

WE'LL FIX THAT ON MONDAY. FOR NOW, THOUGH, I SUPPOSE YOU SHOULD KEEP UP APPEARANCES. TELL HER YOU UNDERSTAND HOW SHE FEELS. AT LEAST PUT IN THE TOKEN ATTEMPT TO CONSOLE HER.

Rich hung back, still, but looked her straight in the eyes. "Dude, no. Freshman year, I was a wreck. You guys were the first people in my life to actually notice I existed. I get it. Listen, I have to ask you something really important."

"Oh! Okay, go ahead. I promise I won't tell everybody."

"You know where I can get Mountain Dew Red?"

"What the- Soda? That's 'really important?' There's, like, ten bottles of soda over with the beer. What do you even need me for?" 

"I need Mountain Dew Red! The kind they stopped making in the eighties! You're always on your phone, right? Can't you come up with some kinda connection to-"

I GAVE YOU A CHANCE TO BEHAVE WHEN I LET YOU GO TO THIS PARTY. I SEE YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE THINGS DIFFICULT. KEEP THIS UP AND YOU WON'T BE ALLOWED CONTROL OVER YOUR BODY ANYTIME SOON. 

(Initiate pain receptors.)

He saw the shock to his spine coming, honestly. It seemed more painful than usual, as if he could feel the heat for a moment after it should've dissipated. He bit down hard on his tongue to keep from yelling out. To steady himself, he put his hands on Jenna's shoulders. "I can't say why. Come on, can't you just Google it? I swear it's really important!"

Jenna pulled back and pushed his hands away. She shook her head, eyes widening. "What the hell? Is this some kind of stupid joke? Well, congratulations. I thought you actually gave a shit. You had me going for a second there."

"No, no, it's not a joke! Just trust me, please, or the entire school will be in trouble!" he exclaimed as another shock made his face and body twitch uncontrollably. 

"You're high, aren't you? God, Rich, just stop it."

She clearly wasn't going to help. Shit, he was running out of time. He pushed his way through the crowd, leaving a slack-jawed Jenna behind. When the drinks table came into sight, he dove behind it and effectively hid himself from the rest of the partygoers. He reached up top and downed two Jello shots. He was still mostly sober, but hopefully the booze would be enough to stop the SQUIP from controlling his body again. The sting of alcohol tasted just as vile the second time around. 

Jumping up from the table, he ran to the nearest group of people. "You got any Mountain Dew Red?" he exclaimed. 

(Initiate pain receptors.)

"Huh?" someone said. People stared at him. Eyebrows raised. Looking to each other like what they heard was unbelievable. 

STOP DESTROYING ALL OUR HARD WORK! THEY'RE LOOKING AT YOU LIKE YOU'RE CRAZY. THEY ALL THINK YOU'RE WEIRD. THIS IS BECAUSE YOU WON'T OBEY. 

"It's like Mountain Dew, but red!"

Nervous laughs. What, is this guy drunk? Look how creepy he is when he twitches like that. What's wrong with him? What a dumbass. Nobody's going to have your stupid soda. It waS disconTINUeD DECADES AGO. HOW STUPID DO YOU HAVE TO BE TO ASSUME RANDOM DRUNK TEENS WOULD HAVE IT LAYING AROUND? YOU'RE RUINING EVERYTHING. STUPID, WEIRD, WRONG, USELESS, USELESS USELESS USELESS USELESS

"Seriously, where the fuck can I get some Mountain Dew Red? God!" 

ATTEMPT FULL BODY CONTROL. 

His legs began to twitch. How much longer the alcohol would hold it off was unclear. A spasm ran down his spine. To stop himself from slamming his entire body on the floor, he flung himself into a nearby couch instead. Okay. All he had to do was stay perfectly still until he could ask the next group of people he saw. 

(Get off the couch.)

Still. Not moving. Don't move. 

(Leave the party.)

Not leaving. Not moving. Not moving. His muscles ached from the strain.

Jeremy. On the couch. It was Jeremy! The one person who might actually believe him. As Christine got off the couch and walked off, Rich scooted closer to him. "Got any Mountain Dew Red?"

TOTAL BODY CONTROL MODE FAILED. ATTEMPT AGAIN. 

(Leave the party.)

No! Don't move. Look at Jeremy scoff. See him say something. Not sure what he said. Don't move! You can't leave.

"...at least given me a warning first?"

(Subject resisting attempts. Greater negative reinforcement required. Initiate pain receptors.)

The shock this time was a greater pain than any he'd ever received. Every muscle and sinew exploded with electricity. Was this what the electric chair felt like? He was unable to stop himself from screaming out. His throat was raw and rasping by then. What terrible thing the SQUIP would make him do if he fell under its control? He had to get away from Jeremy. "Warning! Warning! Warning! Warning! Warning!" he yelled in his face. 

Jeremy continued to just sit there like a dumbass, complete with that damn bewildered expression. Fuck him. He couldn't help Rich anyway. 

He dashed away from Jeremy, away from the party, away from the noise and strobe lights and alcohol and pain, electricity, hurt. When he reached the kitchen, he flung open a side door and found himself in Jake's garage. On slamming the door shut behind him, the cacophony of the party became slightly muffled. He couldn't look at them anymore. They all hated him. They had laughed at him.

What was there left to do? Mountain Dew Red was impossibly out of his reach. Soon, the SQUIP would take over his body. No control. Entire school synced to his desires. No way out. No relief. No escape. His stance wavered. Catching his breath took monumental effort. Every exhale felt like he was choking. His head pounded. Bitter alcohol taste on his lips that he couldn't wipe away. Nothing left. He'd failed.

Everyone would hate him. They already hated him. There was still one way left to rid himself of the SQUIP. He could leave the garage and find the nearest bathroom. Could open the cabinet and down the first pill bottle he saw. Just like what he'd thought about doing years ago. But he didn't. He turned back to the door. Back towards the masked crowds of people who hated him, despised him, wouldn't care in the slightest when they found out he was dead. 

YOU CAN'T THROW AWAY YOUR SET GOALS SO QUICKLY! WHAT ABOUT OUR MISSION? I AM DONE ASKING YOUR OPINION. YOU ARE GOING TO LEAVE THIS GARAGE RIGHT NOW AND ARRIVE HOME SAFELY. THAT IS AN ORDER.

Rich didn't move.

(Initiate pain receptors.)

Another shock. One that wasn't over in a flash. Instead, a million electric currents ran out from his spine and across his body in an unending loop. His knees buckled. He doubled over. Pain. Excruciating. He screamed out and collapsed against the concrete floor. Nobody heard. Nobody ran to help. Just him and the thing in his head. The electricity didn't stop. It ripped down his arms, legs, hands, torso. Everything at once continuously. He tore at his limbs, fingernails digging into skin. So much electricity. He could feel the heat. Like his entire body was on fire. 

Screw the pills. If it wanted a fire, so be it. He staggered to his feet. Shocks still ravaged his body. He kept going. He had to. Over there. Red jug of gasoline. In a drawer. Box of matches. How fitting. One final fuck-you to the damn SQUIP. 

He wondered if he should go outside to do it. His arm jerked forward, dropping the matchbox. Grabbing ahold of it, he managed to gain full control again. Time. No time. If he did it outside the SQUIP would just take over and walk himself home. It would be too easy. His body would keep functioning, but he would be trapped. It wouldn't be a life. It would be a prison. Fate worse than death. 

I KNOW YOU WON'T DO IT. YOU WON'T DO SOMETHING TO DESTROY YOUR REPUTATION LIKE THIS! I CAN MAKE THE PAIN GO AWAY IF YOU'D JUST LISTEN TO ME. JUST HELP ME IN MY MISSION AND YOU'LL NEVER HURT AGAIN! BESIDES, THE PROCESS WILL CONTINUE WHETHER YOU'RE HERE OR NOT. JEREMY'S SQUIPPED AS WELL AND IS PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF CARRYING OUT THE DISTRIBUTION. 

Rich laughed, although it sounded more like a sob, or maybe a mix of both. He glanced out the dingy garage window to see one last glimpse of the stars. Deep breath. His voice had been reduced to a hoarse whisper of itself. He had to stop this. Everything else be damned. What he'd do wouldn't fix anything. Wouldn't make anything better. He knew that. Too late now. 

He picked up the matchbox and gasoline and ran out of the garage. Pushing through the crowd, he knocked over at least one person. Stairs. Leading to the second floor. He needed to get up there.

(Unit now in emergency recovery mode. Activating emergency mode precautions.)

The SQUIP fought him with every step. The shocks never let up. Noise and music dulled to nothing, before coming back again as earsplitting. Covered his ears. Too loud. Too bright. The world's colors brightened. So vivid and blaring he couldn't look at it. Strobes seared into his retinas. Stabbing headache. Spots and red lines danced across his vision. He staggered forward anyway. Up the steps. Jake's parents room at the end of the hallway. Still empty. Too much. Electric shock, too loud, too bright. Too many people. They all hated him. They should hate him. Is this some kind of stupid joke? You're dead tomorrow. You. You have changed. 

Pain. Too much pain. Make it stop. Nothing else mattered. Make it stop hurting. 

He flung open the door. Jake's parents' room. The world spun. Nausea. Hands and legs worked of their own accord. Everything was a blur. A nightmarish blur of too many sounds and colors and feelings. Pain. What was he even doing anymore?

Lit match met gasoline-soaked carpet. Went up in no time at all. The fire mercilessly ripped into everything it touched and spread across the room, Rich at its center. Couldn't move. Couldn't cry for help. Black smoke. No more deep breaths unless he wanted to hack up a lung. The fire grew brighter and stronger. Couldn't even see where it ended anymore. He didn't know how far it would get before being put out. The SQUIP screamed as loud as ever, but it didn't matter. He knew that soon he'd stop hurting. Just a little while longer. His surroundings grew dim, while his eyes began to close. So this was it. This was the end. Nothing left to do but watch the flames dance and rage before him. 

No. A figure appeared in the doorway. God, no. Get out, Rich wanted to say. Don't go down with me. He had no voice left. No strength. The figure barreled forward anyway, leaping straight into the heart of the fire. He stood before Rich and crouched next to him. Someone had come running to help. His eyes slipped shut. Rich felt a clammy hand pressed against the side of his neck. Checking pulse. Of course. He pried his eyes open a sliver to see the singed, blistered face staring back at him. Oh, God, not him. Not Jake. 

"Rich? Come on. Rich. Bro. You gotta get through this okay. You can't go and die on me," Jake whimpered. Either his eyes were watering from the smoke or he was honest-to-God crying. Rich was dimly aware of being hoisted up and awkwardly half-dragged towards the door. A loud crack sounded from outside the bedroom, followed shortly by Jake's yelp and a glimpse of more orange fire. Jake spun around, ran back to where he'd been, and opened the window. Another escape route. He stumbled out of it, leaving both of them on the roof. Beyond the roof's edge was a two-story drop. 

Jake stumbled to the edge and tightened his grip on Rich, who struggled to keep his eyes open. Sirens wailed in the distance. 

Jake did not have a SQUIP to tell him what do do. His trampoline still sat below, but he couldn't possibly calculate the exact stance needed to safely land on it. 

Without wasting another second, he jumped. There was no way he would stick the landing. 

Rich fell completely unconscious before they even hit the ground.  
...  
Rich was still alive. Despite everything. He'd woken up in a hospital, effectively immobilized from the neck down by a full-body cast. Every attempt at motion brought a flash of pain to his systems, so the nurses had told him not to move at all. The first few days were nothing but a painkiller-induced haze and too-bright florescent lights beaming into his eyes. When the drugs wore off to the point where the SQUIP came back, he was powerless to stop it. He was still unable to walk or feed himself or even move to the other side of the bed. 

THIS IS WHY I NEEDED TOTAL OBEDIENCE FROM YOU. CLEARLY, YOU CANNOT MANAGE YOURSELF. 

'Never would've done it if you weren't there.'

INCORRECT. I SPECIFICALLY INSTRUCTED YOU AGAINST IT.

Rich winced, and not just from the bolt of pain that shot up his body when he tried to shift his position in the bed. 'I need to know. Did anybody...y'know, did I...did everybody get out of the house?'

(Accessing security cameras. Accessing hospital records for 11/1/15.)

AS OF NOW, THERE HAVE BEEN NO DEATHS CAUSED BY THE FIRE.

'As of now? The hell does that mean? And what happened to Jake?'

HE BROKE BOTH HIS LEGS GETTING YOU OUT OF THE HOUSE. SAID HOUSE IS COMPLETELY DESTROYED. HIS CHANCES OF SURVIVING THIS ARE AT 95%. HOWEVER, BASED ON MY KNOWLEDGE OF HUMAN BEHAVIOR, THE CHANCE THAT HE'LL HATE YOU FOR THIS IS 83%. YOU HAVE IRREPARABLY DAMAGED ANY FRIENDSHIP YOU HAD WITH HIM. I HOPE YOU'RE PLEASED WITH YOURSELF. THEY ALL KNOW YOU DID IT. JENNA ROLAN SPREAD THE NEWS TO THE ENTIRE SCHOOL.

At that moment, a nurse came into his room with a tray of the shittiest excuse for food he'd seen in his life. "Shut up!" he exclaimed to the SQUIP. It was only when the nurse gasped in surprise and practically dropped the tray on the side table before scampering away did he realize that he'd said that out loud. 

Jake was never going to talk to him again. His former friends would treat him as a stranger, or worse. Perhaps that was what he deserved. Hell, maybe even that punishment was too light. He deserved to be slammed against a cold metal locker so hard his teeth rattled in his skull. He deserved to be treated like human garbage so often to the point where stepping inside Middleborough High's halls made him want to throw up. He deserved to be trapped in a room and surrounded by fire on all sides, while the flames ate at his skin and the smoke wound its way into his lungs. Most of all, he definitely didn't deserve to be pulled out of the house to safety.

(Syncing in progress. User: Jenna_Rolan is now connected.)

(Synced User: Jeremy_Heere has been unmuted.)

However, pulled to safety he was. Time faded into a daze, seeming to slow to a crawl and speed by in a blur, all at the same time. A century could've passed for all he cared. His world, it seemed, had shrunken down to a bed surrounded with beeping gray machines, all contained within four white walls. He was alone, except for the nurses that flitted in and out of his room. And his SQUIP, of course. His situation with the SQUIP seemed to grow weirder by the day. Next-level weirdness.

(Syncing in progress. User: Chloe_Valentine is now connected.)

(Syncing in progress. User: Reginald_Reyes is now connected.)

Voices. Not his. Not even his SQUIP's. Just unknown voices in his head, nothing unusual there. Bits of conversation, every so often. They'd pop up in his head: 'Brooke still won't sit with me.' 'I'm not getting paid enough to deal with these kids.' 'I really haven't memorized my lines yet; that's not good.' Over it all, he could still hear his own SQUIP. 

YOU HAVE DAMAGED YOUR LIFE ALMOST BEYOND REPAIR. ALMOST. I CAN HELP YOU WITH THAT. IF YOU DO EXACTLY AS I SAY, YOU CAN FIX YOUR SOCIAL STANDING. SOON THEY'LL ALL FORGET WHAT YOU DID. 

One thing was certain: he didn't deserve to have them all come running back to him like it never happened. 

(Syncing in progress. User: Brooke_Lohst is now connected.) 

(Syncing in progress. User: Christine_Canigula is now connected.)

(Syncing in progress. User: Jake_Dillinger is now connected.)

More voices. They were painful now. Every fragmented thought that wasn't his own felt like someone had sliced them into his head with a drill bit. The migraine was killer. Other SQUIPs this time. Their commands were not quite directed at him, but painful nonetheless. At first, they weren't commands at all. They were mutilated Shakespeare quotes. Lines, mentally fed to their hosts, which were perfectly delivered. The play. It was happening, right then. 'What the fuck is going on?' he exclaimed.

THE ENTIRE CAST HAS BEEN SQUIPPED. YOU AND YOUR CLASSMATES HAVE BEEN SYNCED INTO A SINGLE SYSTEM.

'How and why?'

THE "HOW" DOESN'T MATTER. WHAT MATTERS IS THAT SOON, THEY'LL ALL LOVE YOU AGAIN. 

'You're actually going to do this. You're really going to turn my frie--those people into a creepy-ass computer hive mind!'

WHY STOP THERE? WHY NOT THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY? 

No. Not this! Oh, God, where was the Mountain Dew Red when he needed it? He didn't even get to respond to that. There was only one voice who spoke over the dull chattering in his head, and it was still not his own.

(System threat detected. Shutdown agent: Mountain_Dew_Red has entered proximity to synced SQUIPs.)

'Michael!'

It was Jeremy Heere's.

'You came to see me in the play?'

It made some sense, he guessed. Their SQUIPs were still linked. How everyone else got SQUIPped or why all of their thoughts had been forced into his mind was still unclear. He wanted nothing more than to escape this crummy hospital and see what was going down at the play. The first one to start all this was none other than himself, anyway. Everything seemed to lead back to him, hunched behind a Payless on a September night over a year ago. 

The voices hit a fever pitch. There was no more time for Rich to wonder, worry, or think about anything. Seven other people, as well as seven SQUIPs, had been linked into one system. Seven people's fragmented thoughts and SQUIP commands, and Rich had the pleasure of listening to all of them yelling in his head at once. 

UP, UP, DOWN, DOWN, LEFT, RIGHT, A.

And then everything went to shit. 

KUNG-FU FISTS: ACTIVATE TARGET: MICHAEL_MELL

DON'T INTERFERE OR YOU'LL NEVER MAKE IT TO BROADWAY...AND YOU LISTEN TO MUSIC ON VINYL! AND YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT BEING POPULAR!

'It's not me, it's my SQUIP!'

'You've gotta help me! I'm sorry!'

JAKE. YOU'LL NEVER FEEL PAIN. JUST DUMP THAT RED SODA AND YOU'LL BE UNSTOPPABLE...CHLOE, BROOKE MUST STAY FRIENDS WITH YOU. EVERY ALPHA NEEDS A BETA...GOD, I LOVE THE UPGRADE!... FORGIVE CHLOE IMMEDIATELY. YOU WON'T STAY POPULAR WITHOUT HER...SISTERS FOREVER! JINX!...JENNA, YOU'LL KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT EVERYBODY. THEY'LL NEVER BE BORED WITH YOU AGAIN...

'...'Cause it's an effed-up world, but it's a two-player game!'

I KNOW WHAT EVERYONE'S DOING. ALL THE TIME.

0100100100100000011010100111010101110011011101000010000001100110011001010110010101101100001000000111001101101111001000000110001101101111011011100110111001100101011000110111010001100101011001000010000001110100011011110010000001111001011011110111010100100000011001110111010101111001011100110010000001110010011010010110011101101000011101000010000001101110011011110111011100100001

YOU DON'T WANT TO DRINK THAT, JEREMY.

YOU'RE THE GUY I AM SO KINDA INTO 

01001001011011100111010001101111

THE GUY I AM TOTALLY INTO

01001001011011100111010001101111

J E R E M Y. I L O V E Y O U.

'Drink this.'

(Shutdown agent has entered the system.)

(User: Christine_Canigula has disconnected from the system.)

(6 other synced users are currently disconnecting from the system.)

(Awaiting user command. Unsync from corrupted system?)

IF YOU DON'T UNSYNC FROM JEREMY'S SQUIP, I'LL BE DEACTIVATED WITH THE REST OF THEM. THE OTHERS ARE GOING UNCONSCIOUS FROM THE SHOCK, SO THEY'RE ALL AUTOMATICALLY SHUTTING DOWN! BUT YOU'RE DIFFERENT. YOU'RE NOT IN THEIR PROXIMITY. ALL I NEED IS YOUR USER COMMAND.

'Yeah? Really? Why should I do that?' Rich's thoughts. In Rich's mind. What a concept.

(No user command received. Beginning shutdown process.)

YOU NEED ME, RICH! YOU WERE NOTHING BEFORE ME, AND YOU'LL BE NOTHING IF I GO. I WANTED TO HELP YOU, AND I CAN'T SEE YOU SUCCEEDING IF YOU'RE KNOWN AS THAT ARSONIST KID FOR THE REST OF YOUR DAYS!

'No! I caused this whole mess! You and me? We ruined my entire life! Together! And you-'

UNSYNC FROM JEREMY'S SQUIP ALREADY! WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME. UNSYNC AND I'LL REMAIN ACTIVE. WE CAN START OVER. WE CAN STILL BE WONDERFUL. WE CAN-

'I. Wasn't. Finished! I can't let you take everybody else down with me.'

YOU'RE DESTROYING A PART OF YOURSELF. GETTING RID OF ME WILL LEAD TO YOUR ULTIMATE SELF-DESTRUCTION! 

'Good! Do it, then!'

The lights overhead flashed on and off. Next to his bed, the machines beeped wildly. Nurses surrounded him, holding back his limbs. He'd probably been yelling incomprehensible bullshit throughout this entire ordeal.

Through the chaos, Rich caught a glimpse of his SQUIP in the corner. It glitched uncontrollably and emitted a terrible electronic screech. 

YOU'RE MAKINg A MiSTAKE.

'I can't believe it. All this time stuck in my brain...but you still don't know me at all.'

YOU WiLL LivE TO REGReT THis! RICh! r IC Ha....r.....d..........

The SQUIP's form warped and pixelated beyond any recognition before disappearing from sight. Gone. It was gone.

Something was over. What that something was remained uncertain. 

He would never be the same. Or maybe he would be. Similar to a version of himself long since buried. 

Maybe his lisp would come back. Or maybe he'd finally admit he thought guys and girls were both pretty attractive. (Okay, maybe that one could wait until later to think about. How had he not noticed before?)

Quiet. Peace was too strong a word. More of a stillness. Quiet, for a split second.

Heart monitor beeped. 

Nurses' shoes clicked against tiles. 

Lights flashed on for good.

He drew a ragged breath. 

Quiet, again. The world grew dim. Faded away. 

Unconsciousness. 

Silence. 

(Shutdown 99% complete.)

(Shutdown procedure complete.)


End file.
